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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727448">Villainous Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutepoggers/pseuds/Absolutepoggers'>Absolutepoggers</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CH3RRYL1M3AD3/pseuds/CH3RRYL1M3AD3'>CH3RRYL1M3AD3</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahahah_ah/pseuds/sarahahah_ah'>sarahahah_ah</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Medieval, DNF, Dream Kisses, DreamSMP - Freeform, Dremons, Gay, George’s POV, Ghostbur, M/M, Medieval, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unrequited Lust, Villainous Thing by him is my favorite song, go listen to it I’m begging you, his music slaps so hard it’s unreal, if u saw that tag no u didnt -CH3RRYL1M3AD3, im talking ABSOLUTE BANGERS, knight dream, takes place in the Dream SMP, they’re very gay, thirst, yall hear Shayfer James?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:40:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutepoggers/pseuds/Absolutepoggers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CH3RRYL1M3AD3/pseuds/CH3RRYL1M3AD3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahahah_ah/pseuds/sarahahah_ah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Any last words?” George was transfixed on the movement of his lips, feeling it was only just that such a heroic voice came from such a desirable jawline. His mouth was curled into a smirk that made every nerve in his body flood him with any vitality he had left. It was the definition of invigorating.</p><p>“Kiss me,” the king rasped dryly with his newfound confidence.</p><p>George flinched as Dream dropped the ax, and it hit the underbrush with a dull thunk. His breath was caught in his throat as George could feel his lips just millimeters from his own.<br/>Instead of a kiss, the next sensation was a sharp dagger lodging itself deep into the king's lower rib. He almost immediately struggled to breathe, but that task was made exceptionally harder when Dream's lips affectionately pressed against his.</p><p>--<br/>Inspired by the song "Villainous Thing" by Shayfer James.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>269</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Royalty Renewed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Duke in hiding after stirring up a war gets an unexpected visit from the Royal Guard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you were a traveler visiting L'Manberg (given you weren't a filthy American, of course), you'd likely be welcomed with a smile and a firm handshake, the callouses earned through hard work universal to all its citizens; and a cozy room in a quaint home with a south-facing window that allowed light to tumble in freely; and slightly uneven cobblestone paths that bore the marks of history made rich by time and constant flux; and friendly conversation during work that made hours of labor slip by like minutes; and tall, arching trees perfect for resting beneath and enjoying an occasional lazy breeze paired with sunlight gently dappling between leaves onto your face. Normally, the small nation radiated a kindred warmth and sense of community that could make even the most vagabond feel at home.</p><p>However, these are not normal times.</p><p>Now, if you were a traveler visiting L'Manberg, you might stumble upon a shard of some dark material outside the main cluster of buildings. Granted your curiosity bested you and you picked it up for further examination, you'd know it was obsidian. But what was obsidian, a substance forged by molten rock, doing in the fields surrounding L'Manberg? </p><p>As a traveler, a nomad, you wouldn't know of the history; of the war, the death, or the betrayal that forged it from hellfire. </p><p>But all these factors, these searing, cataclysmic adversaries that should've destroyed the nation, gutted and eviscerated it, somehow created a community so Herculean and vivid that it would continue to survive even the harshest of winters, the most devastating of disasters, and the most tyrannical of leaders. </p><p>Much like the lava that forged the obsidian walls. The walls represented that more heat makes an even stronger substance. The very essence of L'Manberg was rooted in resilience, in overcoming more onerous and arduous obstacles so it could emerge even brighter and more brilliant than before: </p><p>Oh, I wasn't supposed to spoil that the obsidian was from the walls, was I?</p><p>Well, no matter. You probably already know that and, thus, the first fundamental truth of L'Manberg. </p><p>Even walls cannot keep out greed and deceit. They weave nations and nations they unweave. </p><p>Now, traveler, continue to the town square, straight ahead to your left. I'm sure you'll find it more than interesting (unless blood makes you squeamish).</p><p>---</p><p>There was a crowd gathered around L’manburg’s wooden path. Inside of the town square, there was an excessive amount of commotion that even the walls couldn’t have silenced. An observer wouldn’t need to be close to hear the loud screaming emerging from the rally of angry people. After a tense moment of shouting, a proper set of proclamations finally became audible amongst the ruckus. </p><p>“George, this is your fault!” With a grunt, a man dressed in a worn government uniform had shoved a pauper to the floor and planted his boot atop his chest. If he wanted to, his weathered shoe could break the ribs it pressed into the boardwalk. It was clear no one involved was on the side of the victim; almost all the bystanders loomed over the potential crime scene with identical sets of narrowed eyes glittering with bloodlust.</p><p>“Everything that’s happened up to this point is literally because you didn’t attend the election!” he shouted, stripping his throat raw from the volume. “If you had gone to the elections we could have gotten votes, and we could have won fairly, and Schlatt wouldn’t have done anything- no, everything that’s happened up to this point! And now you dare to show up?!”</p><p>The resulting silence was so heavy and dense, it could only be sliced through with a blade. And a blond man rose to the challenge, withdrawing a sword with the intent to cut the silence along with the duke’s neck. That plan came to a screeching halt once someone gasped loudly. Almost synchronized, everyone glanced upward to the balcony of a bakery on the path, only to glance back at each other in dread. </p><p>The presence that was observing from the perch of the roof was enough to completely dissolve the assembly, sending every suspect into a panicked dispersion. People clambered into houses as the impoverished Duke brought himself to his feet, only to gaze upon the onlooker and escape from the district. He headed to the outskirts of town and began to wrestle with the suspicion that he was now an informal exile. </p><p>The wind rushed between each sprout of grain, making sure to thoroughly shake each stalk as it blew past. On a crisp autumn evening, it wasn’t uncommon for the wind's harsh chill to interrupt the otherwise quiet countryside. It was more scenic than the newly erected country not too far from the prairie. Reasonably close lie L’manburg, half a day's walk away. Days passed as the country became more and more unstable until it snapped. War erupted, shocking the night sky with the sound of explosives. Now, it sat dormant. The country had expelled all of its energy, and one could assume it was asleep. At this time of day, like clockwork, the gravel path began to crunch with the sound of footsteps. </p><p>The perpetrator of these steps took in a long breath of the chilling air. It wasn’t nearly frigid enough to invoke trembles from the cold- on the contrary, it was invigorating. As the small game and other various varmints scurried into the plain or up the vibrantly hued trees, George took a step from the beaten path and waded into the grain field. He set down his satchel and bow, letting nature ease some of his anxieties. Almost instantly, his shoulders relaxed and his posture loosened. As he continued down the field, his step was a bit faulty and uneven, hardly noticeable; almost like adopting a casual stance was new to him, similar to the way some of the pastries from Niki's bakery were foreign to him. </p><p>The last traces of daybreak were just barely wrung out from the sky when George felt the cool refuge of a shadow on his brow. He glanced up, a small smile curving his lips. </p><p>Construction of his passion project was underway, and he thought it looked rather cute. To escape from the ever-looming threat of war, George would slink away and work on his house. Of course, it wasn’t a house right now. Simply put, it was more of a cave. He had chosen a hillside to burrow into, and craft himself his place of refuge. </p><p>As midday rolled around and clouds began to blanket the warm fall sun, George stepped away from the wood he was hacking away at and stood. Fetching his bow, he placed an arrow in a fire-ready position. His gaze settled on a small rabbit that had unfortunately wandered into his line of vision. </p><p>He pulled the bowstring tight as he drew in a breath to stabilize his aim. Releasing his fingers, the string released the arrow right into his soon-to-be meal. He would have felt a slight rush of pride at this moment if it weren’t for the feeling of eyes in the back of his head. Without hesitation, he plucked an arrow from his quiver and spun around. Before he even knew what he was aiming at, a blunt force knocked his weapon from his hands. He grunted as he hit the ground after suffering from a surprise kick to the gut. </p><p>His first thought was that he was being robbed by a simple thug. A criminal who wanted to snatch his things and nothing more. But to his astonishment, the illicit party wasn't a peasant trying to get away with petty cash. It was a guard- a royal knight, to be specific. </p><p>“That’s a rather cowardly way to greet someone,” the knight stated as George let his eyes focus on his face. Any lingering anxiety that was residing deep inside of his gut exploded into pure fear after noticing the familiarity of his appearance. His mask, to be specific. The haunting symbol was easily identified as two dots and a curved line; on its own it was the least bit intimidating. But it was who wore the porcelain face that brought about his fear. Nonetheless, he spoke with a cool and collected tone as he addressed George. “Although I will admit, you have a good eye.”</p><p>George was pale as he stared at the knight, immediately feeling his eyes unconsciously rest on the sheathed blade that hung from his metallic armor. Quickly realizing he was making a fool out of himself, he attempted to collect any shred of decency by challenging his statement. “A coward wouldn’t face a fiend who just knocked him down. If I was indeed a coward, I’d be halfway across the prairie by now.” He swallowed, his voice trembling as it struggled to escape around the lump in his throat. </p><p>Normally he would have contained his composure around anyone else, but he was currently speaking to the highest-ranked knight in the royal guard. This man was well-known for his ability to oversee warfare scenarios with an exceptional amount of ease. He was well versed in combat and had a near-perfect track record. In addition to that, he always wore that mask, constantly masquerading the world from his face. No one even knew his birth name, and they only referred to him as Dream. All of these elusive traits amounted to him appearing to be an enigma. </p><p>George was familiar with the knight because of who he was before L’manburg’s most recent civil war. Memories of him being a ferocious tyrant-like victor who demanded the country to raise white flags pricked at the back of George’s brain. The most recent encounter consisted of the warrior standing on a building and sending people running with only his presence. In that violence-ridden Manburg, he was spared from being on the morning’s obituaries. The country appeared shattered, along with his upper left rib. But by some god-defying occurrence, the country won its independence. This man was crafted for war and unrest, he couldn’t even fathom what he was just recently involved with. </p><p>“Ah, well then you most likely need to educate me.” He said, his statement oozing with sarcasm. “Tell me, what about running away from a war you have ties to, and living in a small wooden hut isn’t cowardly?” There was a twinge in his voice that seemed ...irritated? George was in no sense a master of facial expressions- but any emotion from this man would be helpful. </p><p>“Fair point,” George cracked an anxious smile and stood, brushing himself off. “But, you know of me?” He asked, still trying to figure out why the man was here in the first place. </p><p>“Know of you?” He asked. “Of course I do, it’s my job to know. Who doesn’t know of the cowardly Duke George?” Dreams voice seemed angry. Maybe condescending?</p><p>“Ah,” George’s voice cracked slightly, eliciting a small chuckle from the knight. He could feel his face blooming vermillion from embarrassment as he realized how he didn’t even introduce himself. The confidence coming from this man was shocking, but he had every right to be confident. He was Dream, after all. “Glad to see you came here just to berate me with insults. Is that what you came here to do?” He asked, crossing his arms- attempting to be someone of an imposing figure. This was a fruitless effort, for the sole fact that the knight stood at half a foot taller than him. </p><p>“Actually,” the knight chimed, clapping his armored hands once. The grating sound of metal against metal summoned a posh-looking steed that quickly stood to his side. “I came here to fetch you. You have some business to attend to at the castle.” George stood as stiff as a board, his mind already drowning him under all kinds of anxiety. The knight's stern voice cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the real world. </p><p>“Does the Duke not know how to mount a horse?” He asked, making it clear that he found George’s fear rather humorous. He was willing to bet that he was smiling under that mask.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Citadel Introductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George gets to introduce himself to the royal staff. Dream explains some of what it means to be a ruler.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stallions' hooves methodically galloped over the rubble of recently destroyed walls, avoiding tripping with a surprising amount of excellence. George watched as the Three starred flags whipped back and forth, being tossed about by the ferocious winds atop the flagpole. It stood tall, wordlessly announcing the rebellion was successful. The gravel path eventually morphed into cobblestone, and they reached the outskirts of town before the sun could paint the sky with the colors of a sunset. </p><p>George could feel his insides churn as they made their way through the streets. The last time he was here, the constant foreboding threat of war was unavoidable in these streets. People were sick and tired of the new ‘president’, and they weren’t afraid to voice their opinions. Not only did they voice their opinions, but they also died for their cause. This became clear once the steed wandered around the once lavish center of L’manburg. It was simply a crater in the surrounding area. The civil war had left the country to a fraction of what it was. Although it didn’t look pretty, its citizens were filled with a different energy. They were hopeful. </p><p>Amongst the people, the center of command seemed to be a boy who appeared to be no more than sixteen. He was battered and bloody from a grotesque burn wound, complete with an ugly limp that defined his otherwise triumphant stride. However, contrasting his injuries, he was nothing but smiles as he chatted about infrastructure with a group of people. Excitement radiated off the group as they talked about the future, their eagerness about rebuilding the nation prominent.</p><p>The chatter faded as George and the knight left the heavily populated area, making a steady advance towards the castle that sat atop the horizon. As they passed into the royal grounds, George summoned some courage and attempted to break the silence between him and the warrior. </p><p>“So...did the king tell you why he was summoning me?” He asked, leaning to get a view of the side of the white mask.</p><p>“I see you’re not completely up to date with the current state of politics. I’m not quite sure what I expected from a Duke who tries to weasel from the grasp of his nation.” He spoke over the methodical clinking of his armor as the horse slowed to a stop. Dismounting the horse, he handed the reins to some lower-level guards. George watched their uncertain gazes fall on him, only for their eyes to dart away once Dream turned his head in their direction. </p><p>“There’s no need for you to be spiteful with me, I was simply asking a query.”</p><p>“A question similar to one a fool would ask.” George followed quickly behind the knight as he made his way towards the castle entrance.  “If you didn’t make such a hermit out of yourself, then you would have realized King Eret became involved with that war. As a king, it was his job to maintain a neutral stance, but he failed to follow the rule. Now the throne is vacant.”</p><p>“You were involved in the war as well- how come your knightly hood hasn’t been stripped from you?” George asked. </p><p>“My title as the highest royal knight oversees lots of different categories, making it my responsibility to learn about global affairs. In addition to that, I also have the power to wage whether or not involving the country in those affairs would reward us with some sort of gain.” His voice had such a gratifying tone that it was clear to George how proud he was to hold such a title. </p><p>They walked up the very well maintained cobblestone stairs, and George watched as another pair of guards pulled the massive oak doors open. Stepping inside, George made a vigorous effort to keep his mouth from falling agape with awe. </p><p>After taking a stroll through the twisting halls of the castle, as soon as they entered a large room George got the feeling that they had finally arrived at their destination. A chandelier hung from the lavish cathedral-like ceiling, illuminating the whole throne room with gentle candlelight. The setting sun sent rays of sleepy sunshine through stained glass windows depicting familiar faces, decorating the marble flooring with intricate colored patterns. Dream’s shining armor reflected the brilliant display as he stepped towards the throne. George followed quickly behind, struggling to take in all of the gothic structures that decorated the interior while keeping up with the knight.</p><p>The knight climbed up the white marbled stairs and rested an armored hand on the gold trim of the throne. George watched as his fingers traced the engraved designs of the royal seat, finally coming to a stop at the armrest. The mask looked up at George, who stood looking at the stunning upholstery and what sat atop it. The vacant throne lacked a person seated inside of it, but the crown of the former king remained. </p><p>“The king has no next of kin.” His voice was deep with consequentiality, unlike anything he’d heard him say before. “As much as I snubbed your abstinent actions towards L’manburg’s civil war, it comes with the reward. By distancing yourself and remaining unbiased, you’ve shown your ability to resist poisoning yourself with political pursuits. Making you next in the chain of command.”</p><p>George stood as still as a statue while he watched Dream pluck the crown from its seat in the throne, and place it upon his head. </p><p>“Congratulations,” Dream got on one knee and knelt before the king. “Your majesty.”</p><p>——</p><p>“Seeing as you’re a king in an age of war and battle, I think it would be best if we got you fitted for armor immediately.” Dream stated, leading the new king down a rather elegant stone-walled hallway topped with a ceiling that belonged to a chapel. “Down this hall is the armory, where I can introduce you to a close confidant of mine.”</p><p>George couldn’t help but feel extremely out of place amongst all of this regal atmosphere. He was tan from the morning sun, clothes torn from laborious work, and smelled of earth and rich soil. His worn bow was strewn against his chest while his quiver was left behind at his ramshackle home. And now a crown completed his outfit, further proving how alien he was with regards to his surroundings. </p><p>“Armor?” George asked, straightening the crown on his head before adjusting his posture. “Am I going to be in danger?” His voice was shaken with the sudden implication that he would need to be protected from opposing forces.</p><p>“There is no need to be humble with me, sire. I’ve seen your sharpshooting abilities, it’s very promising.” Dream said, looking the king up and down. George almost collapsed in on himself with embarrassment. “You certainly can defend yourself, but there will be very few situations where I’m not available. You’re aware of my status, and some of my skill, even though you haven’t seen all of it. So if problems do arrive, I can confidently say you have no reason for fear.”</p><p>Dream opened a door and they entered a beautifully tended courtyard, but George didn’t get much time to admire everything before the sharp stench of smoke caused his body to physically recoil. </p><p>The armory was on the far end of the courtyard, its placement was ingenious. When the ironsmith was working, the smoke was mostly covered up with the invigorating fragrance of nature contained within the castle. The remaining stench was whisked away by the wind. </p><p>George saw a man standing over a flame, pounding into a large chunk of metal with some kind of mallet. He was only slightly shorter than the knight and similarly muscular. He had sloppy black hair that was pulled from his face with a torn strip of cloth that revealed his stern and focused expression. This look faded once Dream approached, and he put his tools down. </p><p>“Clayton,” He greeted the knight with a playful jest and was knocked off of his equilibrium by a kick in the shin from Dream. He tumbled into a nearby bench, and George watched the two of them laugh heartily.</p><p>Once again, George felt out of place as the man punched Dream in the armored bicep. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute as he wondered who’s name that was. Did it belong to the knight? If it did, George couldn’t believe that this man had access to such confidential information. </p><p>“George, this is Nicolas.” Dream introduced him to the very anxious royal, who in turn offered his hand for a shake. “Nicolas, this is the new king.”</p><p>”Folks around here call me Nick, ” he smiled kindly at George and reciprocated the handshake. ”Dream and I have been speaking of you.”</p><p>“Nothing of ill-spirit, I hope.” George chuckled, grabbing his forearm and scratching it as a nervous laugh slipped his lips. </p><p>Nick pressed his lips together and turned to his work desk. “Mm. Nothing undeserved. But you’re a man of the bow, I see? Must have a sharp aim.” He looked to Dream, who nodded in return. </p><p>George watched as the armorsmith jotted down the word “Archer” with large writing into a scrappy notebook. </p><p>“If you need me, I’ll be in the library collecting books for the king to study. Fetch me once you’ve finished, and I’ll show you to your room.” The knight said warmly, before tapping Nick on the shoulder and whispering into his ear. Nick nodded, and the knight was on his way. </p><p>Once the knight was out of earshot, Nick chuckled softly.<br/>
“Just a warning, you’re going to be learning a lot of lessons from the world's most unnerving  scholar.”</p><p>George shrank into himself with a dreadful sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I supposed to read all of them?”<br/>
George asked, climbing the luxurious marble stairs that lured the pair away from the ballroom and upstairs towards the living quarters.</p><p>“Not by tonight, no. But preferably soon.” Dream replied, appearing to be unwinded by the two flights of stairs he just climbed whilst wearing full armor and carrying thousands of pages of reading material. “As the king, you have to be well-rounded in many subjects. Leadership, History, global relations, etcetera. It’s best to begin now while things are quiet and the world isn’t in turmoil.” </p><p>George wasn’t a very big fan of his tone. He got this gut feeling of unease when he mentioned turmoil- almost like he enjoyed that word. Perhaps it was just his mind wandering after such a long day. His exhaustion was prevalent on his face, as he managed to get a response from Dream. </p><p>“Try to stay awake for a little while longer,” He said sympathetically, only half-joking. “Respite is just over here, in the king's suite.”</p><p>The king's suite properly lived up to its name, to say the very least. </p><p>The dark hardwood floors pulled out the pale blue and navy colored shades that decorated the walls. A musty copper accent was apparent on the trim of every picture frame and writing chair, the room was meticulously planned to bring out an exceptionally stunning room. Aside from the two large desks and atmospheric windows that brought in the setting sun, George’s eyes fell onto the highlight of the room. The king-sized canopy bed had an intricately crafted headboard made with a study looking copper rods. Silken blankets had never appeared to be so comfortable. </p><p>Dream set the armfuls of books onto a desk and watched George take in everything for a moment. Eventually, he broke the silence once more.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to your ventures for the remainder of the night. If you need me, don’t hesitate to ask for a server or give me a shout.” He said, heading towards the door. </p><p>“Wait-“ George interjected, and the knight paused for a moment as he looked over his shoulder. </p><p>“I-uh...I’m no wordsmith in any sense of the word, but... Thank you. For all of this- it’s been splendid.” He stammered, feeling guilty for not thanking him for the entirety of the time.</p><p>The knight took a beat before responding.<br/>
“Get some rest, sire. I’ll see you at daybreak.”</p><p>And with that, he closed the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Nightmarish Desire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After being king for a short while, George begins to suffer from nightmares. One particular dream consumes his mind, troubling his Royal Knight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George’s feet pounded against the moist woodland floor, leaving beyond obvious footprints in the mud as he trampled undergrowth. Eventually, his foot was grabbed by an uprooted tree, and he was sent plummeting face-first into the cold earth. </p><p>He peeled himself from the forest bed with a pained grunt, snatching a brief moment to look at his surroundings. After a second of sour realization, his heart fell deep into his stomach. The forest was repeating itself, no matter how fast he ran, it didn’t seem to end. His dry throat ached as he took refuge behind an obscurely familiar tree. George looked at the broken bow in his hands with an awful sense of mourning, knowing full well he just lost his chances of survival. </p><p>The cold fall air attacked his lungs, leaving his throat raw with frost. He swallowed, trying to ease the soreness before clamping his hand over his mouth with haste. Somewhere, close he heard a twig snap. </p><p>There was absolutely no way for that hunter to already be near. His brain tossed ideas back and forth, he’d been running for what felt like ages. Logistically speaking, he should be far away from him. Then it hit him, there is a lack of logic inside of the unconscious. </p><p>Tears pricked at his eyes as he waited. Eventually, an uncountable amount of peril filled minutes passed, and he took in a breath of relaxation. That sigh of relief was promptly proved to be a foolish response to respite when the tree shook as an ax whacked its side. </p><p>“Oh, George!”</p><p>George immediately hurled himself to the opposing side, smacking his shoulder against what he could only assume was a rock. He fell into the wood floor with a loud wail, making his position obnoxiously clear. His body was flooded with crippling pain, and he collapsed as he grasped at his shoulder. He was stuck with a gruesome realization after a moment of panic. He couldn’t move his arm. </p><p>George watched as the figure dislodged the ax from its home inside of the tree, and it took a step towards him. Once he was close, he could see the moonlight reflecting against his mask. He’d been wearing the same outfit on the day that they’d met. A green cloak wrapped over his head that covered any semblance of a human skull, neatly tucked into the fancy engraved silver that protected his chest. Armored hands gripped the handle of the blade, and a heavy foot took a confident step in his direction. </p><p>“Dream,” He wept, digging his heels into the mud as he tried to plod away. “Please spare me! Please!”</p><p>With no effort, he watched as the knight plucked him from the floor and pressed him against a tree. George sent his functional hand against his mask- and shoved it upward in a comedic attempt of a punch. It didn’t do much of anything besides shoving his mask upwards, revealing the view of his chin and lips. </p><p>Almost immediately George gasped- not predicting the knight to have such a youthful lower mug. But that small hint of actuality was cut short once the blade of his ax was pressed up against the side of his head.</p><p>“Any last words?” George was transfixed on the movement of his lips, feeling it was only just that such a heroic voice came from such a desirable jawline. His mouth was curled into a smirk that made every nerve in his body flood him with any vitality he had left. It was the definition of invigorating. </p><p>“Kiss me,” he rasped dryly with his newfound confidence. </p><p>George flinched as Dream dropped the ax, and it hit the underbrush with a dull thunk. His breath was caught in his throat as  George could feel his lips just millimeters from his own. </p><p>Instead of a kiss, the next sensation was a sharp dagger lodging itself deep into the king's lower rib. He almost immediately struggled to breathe, but that task was made exceptionally harder when Dream's lips affectionately pressed against his. </p><p>George awoke to hear the sound of a deflated scream coming from his mouth and sat up instantly from the silk coverings to clutch his chest. A sense of relief filled him as both of his arms hugged himself, and he observed nothing was bleeding.</p><p>”It was just a nightmare, ” His voice shook as it escaped his dry mouth, being so quiet in a tone that only he could hear.</p><p>After a moment to collect himself, he pushed a hand through his hair- then instantly cringed at the fact of how sweaty he was. Once he slid out of bed and removed himself from the silk in sheets that clung to his skin for dear life, he saw how the bedding and cushions were thrown askew. </p><p>George began to go through the movements of his new morning routine, but his mind continued to distract him throughout the process. Every time he shook the thought of Dream from his mind, his brain only supplied him another. It was a tedious and useless struggle. Eventually, he surrendered and allowed his unconscious thoughts to lead him wherever they wanted. </p><p>He’d been having dreams like that ever since he’d spent his first night inside the castle. Every night was a variant of a similar situation. He was running away. He was always running away. Occasionally it was in the desolate castle, the prairie fields where he grew grain, or in that nightmarish arrangement of a forest. </p><p>Each night Dream would ensnare him. Sometimes he held an ax. Sometimes he would tackle him to the ground. The outcome was always the same, he would kill him. But this time was unique. </p><p>He’d never seen him without that mask before. He didn’t even get to remove the mask fully from his face, but the part he saw was taking up the entirety of his mind. It infested the space between his ears, making itself known. </p><p>George blinked at the mirror and looked at his outfit up and down in the reflection. He sighed when his stare fell on his face. His hair was a mess while his complexion was its shade of red.  Combing through his hair with his fingers, he looked at the crown on the dark oak table. Adjusting the dark blazer he’d thrown on just moments before, he placed the crown onto his head. </p><p>He made the descent down the marble stairs as he walked into the eating area, and spotted fancy-looking pastry practically begging to be eaten on his plate. </p><p>“Thank you,” He chimed at the waitress who served him the meal and deflated into the chair. The more he looked at the delicious breakfast, the more he realized how little appetite he had. George was too deep in his mind to hear the sound of armored feet making their way towards the dining room, and lifted the glass of water to his lips. As they loomed ever closer, the only thing inside of his head was the idea of a familiar pair of lips pressed against his own. </p><p>“Good morning sire,”</p><p>George choked, coughing into a napkin in an attempt to cover up the fact he just spat water onto everything in front of him.</p><p>Dream snickered as George caught his breath, adjusting the mask on his face. “My apologies, did I frighten you?” He asked, pulling up a seat immediately next to the king. </p><p>“Not at all-“ He sputtered, unbearably aware of how bright his cheeks were with embarrassment. “I was just surprised, I didn’t hear you coming down the hall.”</p><p>“Have a lot on your mind, sire?” Dream asked, his voice making clear his light concern. George found himself longing to know if that concern was brought about legitimately, or if he was trying to be professional. Every bone in his body despised the latter option, but it was most probable. </p><p>‘Yes, You.’ His subconscious mind spoke, exclusively making the pink in his face more vibrant. Unconsciously his lips betrayed him, muttering a dry “Yes…” into the cloth napkin. Almost immediately he began mentally kicking himself. </p><p>It was apparent Dream expected him to elaborate further, but the knight could sense something was off. </p><p>“If you’d like, I can let you relax today. The past few weeks have been tedious for you, I’m sure.” He said, drumming his armored hand against the table cloth. </p><p>“I’d feel selfish for evading my duties,” George said, forcing himself to focus on the breakfast in front of him. He sliced it open, revealing it was full of sweet jam. If he had any appetite at all, he’d be delighted to enjoy his food. But the food wasn’t enough to distract him from his thoughts. </p><p>“It’s not evading your duties. You’re taking care of yourself, and the world needs a strong king. If you didn’t take this day to help yourself, then you’d be failing your duties.” Dream said sternly.</p><p>George felt eyes staring at him through that familiar mask, and he began to wonder if those eyes had an affectionate gaze about them. The more he thought about it, the more it made him want to reach over and remove that mask. It was a barrier that he wished to get rid of. </p><p>“I am going to be in my room.” He nearly shouted, even making himself flinch. Immediately, he extracted himself from the situation by tossing himself from his chair, he then sprinted to his room and closed the door behind him. </p><p>“God fucking...damn it!” He cursed at himself, removing his crown and setting it on the bedside table. Why couldn’t he get this obscure idea out of his mind? It was only a dream, yet he was being so overdramatic. </p><p>Laying on his bed, he decided that the best course of action was to occupy his mind with some reading. Sitting up, he saw the one book he still had yet to read. It had been assigned to him on the first night he arrived at the castle, but for whatever reason, he refused to open it. </p><p>The Art of War was engraved on its spine, and he plucked it from its place on the cold wooden table. He quickly thumbed through the pages as he tried to estimate the number of chapters inside its cover. As the pages fluttered in his hands, a small slip of paper fell from its hiding place inside of the book and settled on the floor. </p><p>George’s brows furrowed as he picked up a scrap of paper. Turning it over, he was surprised to see a small note on the other side. In nearly illegible chicken scratch, he would make out what it said. </p><p> </p><p>Resist.</p><p>-W </p><p> </p><p>The more he stared at the single word note, the more he pondered on the signature. He knew no one with the beginning letter of W in any name. He pursed his lips, tucking the small scrap into his pocket. </p><p>Maybe he just needed fresh air, that could refresh his memory. </p><p>George looked at the cold late-November morning through his window and smiled. He knew the perfect place he could go to. </p><p> </p><p>“You are aware of the fact that when I offered you to take a break, that was not an invitation to run away back to your little recluse house.” George flinched wildly, holding his tongue so he wouldn’t spook all of the horses in the stable. Turning around, he saw Dream leaning up against the doorframe of the entrance. </p><p>“How did you-“</p><p>“I’ve hunted many a man before, George.” Dream interrupted, making sure to remind him of the fact that he was the most powerful man in his army. </p><p>“I’d like to hear more about your war stories.” He said, crossing his arms. “Perhaps you can share more while you accompany me to my fields.” A part of George prayed that this little venture with Dream would ease his mind, finally getting rid of that appetite-ruining idea. </p><p>“I’ll handle the reins.” Dream opened the stable and hopped onto the horse, and as they began to exit the castle walls Dream spoke up again. “Have you missed your small pseudo-cottage?”</p><p>“It’s always relaxing in the middle of that field. It’s like... no matter how cold it gets, or the kind of day that I had, as soon as I step into my hand-plowed soil all of that melts away.”</p><p>The pair idly chatted as the horse continued along the beaten path, but as they neared their destination, the horse pulled to a stop. </p><p>George turned to Dream, who immediately pressed a finger to the smile across his mask. Then the smell of smoke wafted in their direction, the steed broke into a speedy sprint across the gravel road. On the horizon, George was met with an atrocious sight. </p><p>The cool temperature was being offset by a hot flame that had engulfed his small house, and greedily consumed a good percentage of his crop harvest. But his dread was amplified tenfold as his vision focused. </p><p>There was someone inside the house. </p><p>Dreams armored hand gripped tightly to George’s lavish cape, but it was no use. The king had sent himself off of the moving horse and tumbled onto the floor. As quickly as he could, he broke into a sprint towards the blaze.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Incendiary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George finds himself in a pyromaniac's paradise. An unexpected guest makes an introduction, only to go up in smoke.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just a little warning, this chapter contains gore!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Paradoxes run amiss in life. Time is both the healer and the killer. Water has the potential to cleanse and to drown. Fire is no exception. While it can provide a gentle, vital warmth, it also possesses the ability of a destructive beast, one that has long deserved its own category. As soon as George saw the heavy plume of smoke rising over a certain field to the northeast, his stomach knotted. He was no stranger to this behemoth. True to its contradiction, this fire had already cloaked the small cottage in a blanket of greedy incandescence, its fiery tendrils having quickly wrapped around every available surface until the small structure resembled a bundle of tinder rather than a welcoming home. But how can we blame the fire? Just like animals, a fire has no moral compass, no consciousness. How could have the fire known that the very cabin it was incinerating had careful deliberation and hours of labor intertwined with it? However, a rather intrusive thought pricked the back of George's mind as he stumbled into the clearing to see his beloved haven ablaze. This uncontrollable heat wore a sneer also possessed by rage, making the fire appear as a malicious weapon. An intentional weapon. But drawing a red line between an apathetic flame and the human psyche seemed an asinine task when presented with the small inferno.</p><p>He had scrambled towards the front door and gripped its handle, panic clouding his mind before he recoiled with a sharp hiss. The iron scorched the palm of his hand, but he forced it open with all the power he could muster. The interior was all but devastating. Chests appeared to be looted and thrown about unceremoniously. All of the cupboards were ransacked, and any of the sparse decor he had snuck out of the castle was shattered onto the cobblestone floor. </p><p>With the sudden rush of fresh air coming in through the front door, the flames that were eating away at the back of the cottage charged in George's direction at an alarming speed. Almost like a pack of wolves encircling their prey, the exit was promptly blocked by fire. Hastily, George made his way to his bedroom, or, at least, whatever was left of it. If he wanted to waste time inspecting damages, he wouldn't have been able to, as the air in the room was so saturated with clouds of dark grey smoke that he could barely see beyond his arms. </p><p>A sudden, violent burst of heat from behind him corralled George into the room. He staggered inside, tugging the silky dress shirt he wore over his nose and mouth. He expected for his shins to hit the foot of his bed, for it was placed just feet away from the entrance of the bedroom. But as he took a step forward, he wasn't met with what he was expecting. After colliding with a soft surface, he took a step back and glanced up, eyes watering from the smoke. </p><p>At first glance, it appeared to be a man. He was tall, the mop of curly brown hair atop his head half-covered by a slouchy hat of some sort, and dressed in a pair of dark pants accompanied by a yellow sweater. However, when George squinted slightly, mainly out of shock that there was a person in his cottage that was very much on fire, the unnaturally grey skin tone became apparent. He looked... dead.</p><p>His extremities appeared to be semi-transparent, as the fire behind him was visible, if barely. George struggled to grasp the reality of his situation, mentally flailing for a few moments until he latched onto a single idea. A specter. He remembered vague details of them in stories he was read as a child, of their sallow coloring and translucent figures. It only became indefinitely clear that he was in the presence of something unalive when his eyes fell on the man's chest. The yellow sweater was stained with blood, far too much for anything to still have a pulse. </p><p>George drew in a breath to scream but immediately stopped as air filled his lungs. He could breathe, he wasn’t suffocating in smoke because this air was somehow fresh, clean. Even the heat that seemed to scorch his skin felt less severe. His feet were anchored to the floorboards as he drew in another breath slowly, forcing himself not to gulp in air desperately, all while watching the figure, waiting for it to speak. </p><p>“You seem shocked to see a ghost in your home, George.” Its voice was fragile, light as a feather. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.” A smooth British accent broke through as it spoke, its pale eyes never leaving George's. </p><p>“Are you-“ George’s mind immediately filled with pictures of wanted posters around the town square, of how people's voices hushed whenever the man in question was mentioned? The look everyone wore, an odd fusion of bitterness and sorrow, flashed in his head. Hell, George even wore that look a few times. It was impossible not to, how could anyone not bear that expression when they found out- “You’re that psycho who destroyed L’manburg!” His jaw clamped shut immediately, embarrassment burning him more than the fire. He could almost see Dream rolling his eyes and making a snide comment on his impeccable diplomacy. </p><p>“You can call me Wilbur,” the ghost chuckled softly.</p><p>“How are you-”</p><p>“I think it best you let me speak, we don’t have much time," he interrupted George, who was silenced by the ghost's sudden assertiveness. Of course, he obliged, not wanting to tick off the undead any more than he already had. </p><p>“I come bearing a... souvenir, I'd consider it a housewarming gift but my humor would be out of place.” He smiled wryly, tugging the beanie off his head and sending his hair amiss. George thought Wilbur was tipping his hat to him until the specter held it out in his right hand. After a moment's hesitation, the king took it, almost exclaiming in shock when it glowed blue and... transformed?</p><p>After the blue light disappeared, the beanie was gone, replaced with a pair of white-rimmed glasses. George shivered internally touching the glasses, a frigid temperature immediately pricking his fingertips. The black lenses reflected George's face, slick with sweat and tendrils of disheveled hair clinging to it. The red flush that tainted his cheeks couldn't hide the look of fear that lay tucked away in his eyes. George shivered internally touching the glasses, a frigid temperature immediately pricking his fingertips. The difference was only dramatized due to the frankly disgusting amount of sweat seeping out of his pores. </p><p>Wilbur's eyes flicked from the glasses to George and back again before murmuring, "Interesting." </p><p>Whatever was so interesting about the situation wasn't apparent to George, but he didn't bother asking. Instead, he continued to stare at his visage in the lenses, almost fascinated with the way his emotions were portrayed so candidly. There was a guardedness (a direct product of Dream's lessons on court etiquette) that kept his face relatively stoic, but a childlike curiosity managed to slightly tug on his brow. Despite the veil of panic and stress that still lay in place, most prominent of all was the fear practically woven into his expression. George squinted at himself. The fear seemed to go deeper than the fire... he wasn't only scared at the prospect of losing his life... but what else was there? Perhaps-</p><p>"I only have one request in taking these," Wilbur said, effectively snapping George out of his momentary haze. He held out his hand, into which George hesitantly dropped the glasses, which flashed a bright yellow before turning back into the beanie. "This item and its confidentiality are crucial given the current state of your nation. It's for your eyes only, no pun intended." Wilbur produced a small, nondescript satchel from seemingly nowhere, placing the beanie inside before securing it shut and handing it back to George. "And I mean only you. No one else can know of its mere existence. No one. Do you understand?" </p><p>George’s brow creased, and he opened his mouth to object. His effort was fruitless, however, when Wilbur fixed him with a stern stare. The king resisted the urge to gulp nervously, and instead nodded, running his thumb over the leather tie that held the satchel closed. "Yes, I understand." </p><p>A slight smile flitted over Wilbur's face. "I suggest you take a breath." </p><p>He opened his mouth to ask why, but choked on the dastardly stench of smoke once more. He coughed dryly, grasping at his throat. Looking up, the ghost pointed towards the ceiling.</p><p>A fire had covered the entirety of the room, or he assumed it did. The smog from the flames was so thick he could barely see his hand inches from his face. But his eyes did make out a piece of scaffolding above his head. The plank of wood cracked loudly.</p><p>“I’d brace myself if I were you.” And with that, Wilbur vanished among the plumes of smoke. George could've sworn he saw his pale eyes glittering for a moment before he disappeared completely. </p><p>Reflexes had always failed George, who remained frozen like a deer at the sight of the hazard. Time seemed to slow. He stood perfectly still as he watched the scaffolding break, finally succumbing to the fire's appetite.</p><p>However, a jarring impact from the side was not what George expected, colliding hard with another object as debris began to fall from the ceiling. In a single, fluid movement, he found himself crashing through the front wall. His body was hurled from the fire and into the wheat field a few feet away.</p><p>The sound of metal scraping against itself and colliding with the soil was the first thing George noticed, along with a searing pain in his head that seemed almost doubled in his abdomen. Turning his head slightly, he saw Dream hunched over, coughing so loudly the king couldn't help but wince. With his back turned, George watched as he raised his mask and wiped black soot from his mouth with the back of his steel-plated hand.</p><p>He opened his mouth, but any words he would have formed were drowned out by the metallic taste of blood coating his throat. George let out a sort of guttural grunt, sounding no different than a wounded hog. It was enough to catch Dream's attention.</p><p>Dream turned his way, adjusting his mask on his face. His fluid movement stuttered to a halt upon seeing George. He muttered something under his mask, now tarnished with ash. </p><p>“Oh my God." His voice cracked with a sense of unease that George had never heard before. It was beyond unsettling. Dream was a man whom he’d only seen as collected and put together. This man was manufactured for the art of war, shaking him up was certainly not an easy task. Whatever the cause of this throbbing pain, it had to be bad. </p><p>The agony was exacerbating, wave after wave of increasing torment washing over him until black spots threatened his vision.  George drew in a ragged breath, his eyes falling to his cottage, burnt beyond both recognition and repair. </p><p>Sensations threatened to overload him for a moment, from the heat that still emanated from the cottage to the wheat that faintly scratched his skin to the quiet noise of what sounded like Dream talking to him. He couldn't understand the words, but found a sense of solace inside his voice. </p><p>With another painful jolt in his stomach, he realized that this could be the end. What a fitting conclusion. The cowardice duke dying in the backyard of his hideaway. If Dream's expression wasn't masqueraded by the mask, George suspected he might've shot him a sly remark about the irony of it all. But the flicker of amusement faded, the pain in his gut sinking. This could be... the end...</p><p>Blindly, he reached for Dream's hand, wanting to feel something, hold something, before what could be the end. His fingers brushed against smooth metal, and he grasped it desperately, the cool plating of Dream's armor hardly a substitute for a human hand. </p><p>'It's not like I'm in a position to complain,' he thought dryly, closing his eyes as another mind-numbing wave of pain surmounted him. </p><p>"Dream..." His voice sounded garbled, and the agony in his chest increased by tenfold, but he remained determined to get his last words out. Vaguely, he became aware of the knight leaning in closer. A single drop of liquid landed on his left arm, and, had George been conscious enough to give it half a second of thought, he'd have realized it was a tear.</p><p>He coughed, the sensation of blood trickling out of his mouth such a terrifying sensation that it only expedited his next words. </p><p>"I-I'm- sorry."</p><p>Once again Dream spoke, but it was a combination of incomprehensible dialect that went through one ear and out the other. George pressed the side of his face against the knight's breastplate as a methodical galloping thudded just beyond his sphere of consciousness. The gentle rocking was enough to lull George to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Deep within the depths of his psyche, George expected to never open his eyes again. But when he did, it was legitimately unexpected. He immediately blinked at the burning sensation that abused his eyes. The room he found himself in was an unfamiliar one. A glance at the cobblestone walls provided him enough information for him to immediately infer that he was inside the castle. The bed he was tucked away into made little to no effort in keeping him warm, but he realized this was because he was lacking a shirt.</p><p>An attempt was made to pull himself out of the bed, but he was immediately stopped from moving by a sharp pain in his gut. He sharply inhaled, shifting the comforter to look at his wound. Bandages wrapped around his chest snugly, not constricting him as he breathed. It was painful, but it wasn’t anything compared to what it was before. </p><p>“I didn’t think you’d wake up,”<br/>
George looked towards the voice and was partially disappointed to see Nicolas leaning against the iron doorframe. He set a large container of water onto the bedside table, which George seized immediately and began chugging.</p><p>After consuming a great deal of water, George coughed harshly into his palm. His whole body shook and his chest throbbed but dislodging the hefty amount of soot coating his throat held more importance than the antecedent. After catching his breath, Nick handed him a towel and he wiped his hand off with a disgusted shiver. </p><p>“Fuck,” he breathed, leaning back into the pillows with a grunt. Nick adjusted his headband and turned away from the king, fiddling with things that sat on the long counter on the other side of the room. </p><p>“You’re lucky you didn’t get impaled,” Nick said, and George shivered as he watched the man raise a charred bit of scaffolding above his head. The plank was split, and the sharp end was covered with crimson stains. “If this thing went any deeper, it would have punctured your lung or diaphragm.” </p><p>George felt his hand instinctively cover his chest, almost like he was double-checking to make sure that bit of scaffolding still wasn’t lodged in his chest. Seeing his blood on something that almost killed him was an extremely bitter feeling. </p><p>”You’re a doctor?” George's voice came out of his mouth similar to the texture of sandpaper; dry and coarse. The words felt foreign, almost like the cadence of his question didn’t belong to him. </p><p>Nick turned to him, wiping his hands on the apron he had tied around his neck and torso. It was not at all comforting to hear him chuckle as a response to the question, almost as if the king had cracked a joke. </p><p>“I’m enough of a doctor to know that you’re going to need some time to heal.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just wanted to thank you all for the nice comments!! they really make my day :)!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Unintentional Disclosure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George’s recovery is interrupted by the late L’Manberg president. Because of the constant spiritual chatter, the king makes an attempt to find comfort in Nicolas.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Normally, sunsets fill the role as a backdrop to incredible scenes of even more incredible romances. The kindred warmth that renders the sky ablaze with vivacious hues of scarlet and gold is also present in the hearts of irrepressible lovers. Normally.</p><p>But, dear reader, if you've learned anything from this tale, it's that nothing here is ever truly normal. </p><p>You're well versed in paradoxes, so I'll give you another: while the sun can provide a beautiful visage, it can also burn the very life we all hold close.</p><p>And, unfortunately for George, this sunlight was hellbent on doing the latter. </p><p>Exhibiting no restraint, its harsh rays stabbed his eyes, searing the little vision he possessed. Muscles shrieking in agony, he mustered enough strength to tilt his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut as they welcomed the cool, albeit temporal, shadow the wheat provided. Without the assault on his retinas, he became aware of his swirling mind, which continued to shift restlessly, faint voices and faces and emotions racing past him and slipping through his fingertips. For a few moments, George simply went limp, uncaring, his head completely numb from the overwhelming variety of sensations bombarding him. The wheat gently tickling his skin felt more akin to sandpaper, harsh, and abrasive. The heat emanating from several feet away seemed to be burning, no, <i> melting </i> him, as his nerves wailed from the scorching pain. The loud coughing next to him only furthered his state of anguish, sharp and reverberating in his ears so deafening he contorted his neck painfully trying to escape it. </p><p>Finally, a coherent thought formed. </p><p>Where the hell was he?</p><p>Wood being gnawed at by fire popped loudly as it died, fading away into an ugly pile of ash. The noise of the flames alone could be mistaken for thunder if the situation wasn’t so familiar to him. The initial response of shock had quickly worn off, allowing the adrenaline to subside and properly, giving pain full control over his body. The sensation had no mercy as it washed over him in waves. Each rush more painful than the last. </p><p>His mouth opened, allowing that same throaty, barbaric grunt to escape his clenched jaw. This time, it sounded like an attempt at a word. A barely identifiable name had emerged from his damaged voice box, not drowning away in the pool of blood collecting in his cheek. </p><p>“D…re…ammm...”</p><p>If the circumstances had been different, he would have cringed at how needy his tone sounded. Of course, he was losing blood at a rapid rate as his abdominal muscles seized uncontrollably. Needless to say, some matters were more pressing than others. Currently, survival was his only objective. </p><p>The vision was failing him now, his normally crystalline sight was distorted now. His eyesight was misted over with pain, blurring every corner of his vision. This was forcing him to rely on familiar shapes and colors to even attempt to make out what anything was. </p><p>Dream must have been talking as he slid his hand under the king’s neck, but his senses were failing him. The knight's normally clear voice was distorted, almost like he was speaking underwater. Even if his senses were shot, he still found some form of calm just being around Dream.</p><p>Once more George opened his mouth to speak. This time his words were more pathetic than the previous. He tried to say his name again, but it only came out as a disgustingly harsh gurgle from the back of his bloody throat. </p><p>George moved his hand to where he thought Dream’s face was. A gentle steel-plated hand gently corrected its position, pressing it softly against the knight's lower jaw. Cold fingers maneuvered his mask up and off his face, pulling his lips down against his own. </p><p>If Dream’s mask was removed, he couldn’t see his face. Waves of pain destroyed his senses one by one, only leaving him with two sensations. The first one was pain, a horrible pain that lived just below his ribs and only grew with time. The second? The perception of their gentle kiss, but even that faded. </p><p> At first, the feeling was indescribable. But as the seconds ticked painfully past, the feeling deep inside of his gut identified itself. An overwhelming sense of want plagued his body, begging for some form of release. He attempted to keep his mind occupied with his survival, but it proved to be a worthless struggle. It was impossible to focus on your breath when your body betrayed your mind, refusing to collect air within its lungs. </p><p>George was forcefully brought to consciousness by his whole body cringing violently with a painful cough. Sitting up immediately, his hands protectively flew over the bloodied bandage he had slept in. After a moment of gulping down air, he was able to catch his breath and blink the tears of the pain away from his eyes. Once the tears subsided, he was finally able to adjust to the harsh morning light before his eyes settled on the satchel atop his desk. The leather bag had been taunting George for his entire stay in the medical wing. The leather bag, dirtied with the fingerprints of a traitor, was slumped noncommittally against the far wall, alongside a few belongings salvaged from the fire. The leather bag sat on the edge of his vision, teasing him.</p><p>But that wasn't the metaphorical elephant in the room. For lack of a better word, a spiritual elephant at the foot of his bed. George was flooded with anger, glaring at Wilbur before he even opened his mouth.</p><p>“You-“ He broke into a fit of coughs. “You’re watching me?”</p><p>“‘Analyzing your unconscious mind’ would be a more sophisticated way of stating it,” Wilbur mused, prodding at the pile of books on the table. </p><p>“You can see my nightmares now?” George asked. He’d been recovering from his wounds for almost a week now, and each night was plagued with another recreation of that godforsaken fire. A lot of that time was spent sleeping to get away from the gnawing pain in his abdomen and was the only retreat he had currently. </p><p>In his dreams, he could do what he wanted if he was mindful enough. Even in a dire circumstance, similar to the nightmare he just had, he could relieve some of the desire that was building inside of him. Of course, that release was temporary, it only fed that feral yearning inside of him. That beast was getting harder to maintain. This felt like a breach of privacy. </p><p>“Nightmares?” Wilbur asked while trying to conceal a chuckle. “I believe you have those words meanings misconstrued. A nightmare is something that leaves you shaking in terror. You’re leching over this man, George.”</p><p>“You are very out of place,” His voice cracked as he stood from his bed, taking a wobbly step towards the ghost. Wilbur’s smug expression did not falter. “Overstepping your boundaries. Do you need a reminder that you are speaking to the king?”</p><p>“You’ve not attempted to protest my statement.” That smug smile only seemed to swell against his ghastly face. </p><p>“That in no way means I endorse it!” George could feel his romantic guilt shining through his cheeks, and he nipped his lip to abstain from embarrassing himself further. </p><p>The spirit crossed his arms against his bloodied chest, letting out an insignificant exhale. He watched the monarch move to the window. Cracking it open sent a flurry of stiff December wind against him. He had perspired through the dressing of his wounds in his sleep, proving to be rather uncomfortable. The nightshirt was draped off his shoulders, swaying lightly in the wind. </p><p>“I have no ill-meaning towards you, George. But I’m afraid you’re burying yourself into a hole from which there is no escape.” His utterances came off gently now, trying to ease the king’s mind from his previous arrogance.  </p><p>George stiffened, and turned his back to the ghost as he took a step towards the door. Without any sense of warning, his voice became more desperate.</p><p>“I refuse to stand idly by as your mind continues to be consumed by a succubus born from war and manslaughter.” Wilbur projected loudly, and George rubbed his temples with a hiss.</p><p>“I refuse to accept advice from a man who drove himself to insanity over his country.” He squabbled, and Wilbur’s remaining closure crumpled like a house of cards. He would have explained how his memory was failing him, but George left while closing the door loudly behind him.</p><p>George needed some time to clear his head, but that’s a difficult task to do when you’re being haunted by a terrorist's wraith. He half expected Wilbur to phase through the door and continue their conversation, but that wasn’t the case. </p><p>It wasn’t until he was halfway down the staircase of the palace that he realized he was barefoot. He contemplated returning to his room, but he needed some time to calm down after that previous engagement. Ultimately the king swallowed his dignity and continued sleepily plodding down the steps whilst looking like the impoverished farmer he was almost a month prior. </p><p>Thankfully it was too early in the morning for the staff to be roaming about the halls, so the trip to the library suffered a minimal amount of interruptions. Unfortunately, that small winning streak was broken once he’d entered the library. </p><p>Rustic wooden bookshelves lined the walls, manufacturing corridors, and rows within them. The main decor of the room was a lavish fireplace in its center, accompanied by seating areas. Under the previous ruler, peasants were allowed to enter and educate themselves. Seats once littered with cheerful students now held a single familiar armor-smith. Nicolas looked up and George watched his brows furrowed together into an anxious presentation. </p><p>“Please know that I am simply making an observation, and not a jab to your personal...” He said, closing the book he was looking over. “...but you look like the incarnation of insomnia.”</p><p>“Ah,” George sniffled, gingerly seating himself across the man. “I see you’re being gentle with your insults today. A part of me expected you to compare me to a decaying corpse, or something of the sort.”</p><p>“That was next on my list,” He chuckled, softening his look as he spoke to the king. He appeared to pity the man. “It’s not completely fictional to assume you slept poorly?”</p><p>“Poorly would be an understatement,” George stated, rubbing his eye with the palm of his well-manicured hand. </p><p>“Do you care to elaborate?” He asked, leaning forward and quieting his tone before continuing. “I get the sense that rumors of you suffering from insomnia have some fact backing them.”</p><p>George let a defeated chuckle escape his tired face, deflating into the seat that cradled him.<br/>
“There’s this reoccurring thought in my unconscious… I could compare it to a selfish want.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mm, perhaps ‘want’ isn’t the correct word. It’s a craving- something I can’t have.”</p><p>“I see.” Nick let out a chuckle, trying his best to approach the situation with a professional mannerism. “I’m sure there’s an international affair that could be resolved with a marriage if that’s what you’re looking for.” </p><p>“Heavens, no.” George quickly retorted, stopping his train of thought before it spiraled out of control. “Just nightmares of the fire, that’s all. Nothing more. I wish it didn’t happen.”</p><p>“In layman’s terms, I believe you’re suffering from trauma.” Nick had returned to his serious tone. George was beyond thankful for the conversation moving forward. “I don’t blame you. I can’t think of a man who would be able to sleep soundly after being near-impaled.”</p><p>“Splendid,” he said sarcastically, sinking into the chair with a wince. It creaked at him as a response. “Why are you up this early?” He asked, drumming his fingers against his chin. </p><p>“Dream is out with a few guards, they’re talking to L’Manberg’s president.”</p><p>“What about?”</p><p>“After an investigation, he concluded that the Vice President was the one to loot and burn your home. It’s not much of a surprise, he’s the definition of a loose cannon,” Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dream will be negotiating the sentence Thomas will serve, should be back before nightfall. I assume you two will have a lot of things to discuss.”</p><p>George could feel his heart beating fast against his ribs, and anxiously he ran a thumb over his bottom lip. Summoning a breath, he tried to put on the same royal façade that he hid behind previously. </p><p>“The Vice President…Thomas. He’s that young blond bloke who never seems to be able to hold his tongue?” Nick gave him a nod, accompanied by a grimace. The two had some history. George swallowed dryly. “Any idea what his sentence would contain?”</p><p>Nicolas smiled, making his sinister intentions very clear. “Dream started a war with Thomas. He was the leader of a rebellious faction that wanted to break free from the rule. Enemies, those two are. I’d be surprised if he returns without the man’s bloodied and severed head on a stick.”</p><p>George shivered, painfully aware of the cold breeze in the room. Words failed him, and he stared blankly at the floor in an attempt to even come to any conclusion. Thankfully Nick spoke again, relieving the societal pressure of responding from George. </p><p>“You know… Dream is a calm and calculated man. But…” Nick paused, searching for words in his internal vocabulary. “He was… rattled when he brought you back to the castle. Hell, I don’t think ‘rattled’ is the correct…” </p><p>He looked at George, and it became apparent how intensely he was listening. He did not attempt to shroud this curiosity behind anything. </p><p>“I’ve stood beside Dream for a lot of his military career. Together we’ve witnessed horrible deaths just a few inches away from our faces.” Nick said, his stare growing vacant as his memory took over. “I’ve seen him afraid. Even though those situations are few and far in between, I’ve seen them. But when he carried you into the infirmary... he was beyond any definition of horrified. I’ve never seen him look so scared.”</p><p>“You’ve seen his face…?”<br/>
The question was near-silent, barely above a whisper. George felt like he was violating any sense of privacy with his words. If he could, he would have stayed silent, but curiosity animated his mouth. </p><p>Nick paused for a moment, and something finally got the wheels turning behind his eyes. That vacant glazed look suddenly transformed into a semi-shocked expression.<br/>
“Ah,” he chuckled. “Perhaps I should stop before I say too much.”</p><p>George could feel the blood rushing to his face, and he laughed anxiously. Running his hands through his hair, he exhaled loudly.<br/>
“It’s just curiosity,” he stated shakily. </p><p>“You simply need to be careful,” Nick said, lowing his tone again. “A scandal like that could cost you the crown.”</p><p>George paused, his mind throwing around an endless amount of circumstances. Theories on how to further repress the impressions knocked around his skull, along with questions on whether or not the knight had equal feelings. </p><p>“You should set that issue aside. You can rest easy, I’ll be silent.” Nicolas said, standing. He offered a hand to the king. George pulled himself up with a wince. “Besides, they’re cooking pastries for breakfast. If that’s not important, I don’t know what is.”</p><p>“I like your priorities.” George chuckled as they headed towards the bustling sounds of the kitchen.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Sweet Nectar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream unknowingly offers a distraction to George, and this helps ease his pain.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>before you start reading, i urge you to go check out @raining-acid on tumblr!! they drew ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL fan-art for this fic, and it takes my breath away. </p><p> </p><p>(i love you rain! :) thank you for everything you’ve done, and i’m so glad we’re friends &lt;3!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clearly, exhaustion had taken an immense toll on the king, who was slumped on his desk, face scrunched in an obscenely verbose memoir depicting the supposed importance of flowers. The particular page that was being methodically lifted and dropped by his breath belonged to a chapter on how certain colors couldnreveal the entire emotional spectrum. Different flora and hues drifted across his mind, infiltrating his dream and peppering the edges of vision, varying from white lilies to amaranth to forget-me-not. </p><p>Judging by his current state, it wasn't all too interesting.</p><p>"George, wake up!" </p><p>Lavender and heliotrope and magnolia... The fiery sensation of an amorous touch lightly tracing his jaw...</p><p>"George!" </p><p>Not sensing how he was awoken, much less the blatant note of urgency laced in Wilbur's voice, the king shifted his head slightly and stretched leisurely, the remnants of his dream clinging to the forefront of his memory. </p><p>"Good lord," the ghost muttered, his voice equal parts amused and exasperated. A chill, undoubtedly from the specter hovering next to him, seeped into George's skin, and his head snapped up. The two locked eyes, and Wilbur uttered a quiet greeting, accompanied with a small wave. </p><p>Finally realizing Wilbur was very much present and very much aware of the contents of his... dream (judging by the slight smirk gracing his features), the euphoria that kindled George's stomach barely a minute ago was quickly brought to a close when a freezing sensation struck his body, rooting him to place as he let out a startled, "What the fuck was that?" </p><p>But vague sensations floated in his head, traitorous, and George became aware of a gentle, almost unnoticeable pressing on the sides of his head. Normally, he'd write them off as the antecedents of a nasty migraine, but given the furrow in Wilbur's brow, he was certain it had something to do with the unexpected visitor. </p><p>"Are you- reading my mind?" He shook his head wildly, as if trying to rid himself of the intrusion. </p><p>"Not exactly," Wilbur replied, tilting his head a bit as the pressure disappeared. "Just skimming your most recent memories." </p><p>"How did you get in my dream?" George demanded, attempting to push any fragments of it to the back of his mind. Wilbur might already know of the scene, which consisted of the painful scrape of his back against a cobblestone wall as he was hoisted and pressed against it, the sensation of blood, hot and vivacious and messy, pulsing through his veins and blossoming delicious heat everywhere, the rough fabric of the knight's hood in his hands as he desperately grasped at it, trying to get just a smidge closer, and the feeling of Dream's tongue pressed against his teeth, but he didn't want the ghost to gain any more familiarity with it than he already had. </p><p>"I wasn't in your dream, but it's what you were thinking about when you woke. However, it is a bit contradictory to all... this." Wilbur eyed the bedroom in clear distaste, his gaze flitting from the bookshelf to the ridiculously large bed to the elaborate paintings adorning the walls, all depicting battles and places and people George had barely scraped the surface of in the large, leather bound books that lay scattered across every possible surface. And although his room, albeit severely cluttered, was relatively simple in comparison to the rest of the castle, the king could definitely sympathize with Wilbur's aversion to the gilded frames and handsomely polished wood and silken sheets. Admittedly, sometimes it became a bit much for even George, who secretly longed for the austere comforts of his long lost cottage. </p><p>"You intruded-" The beginnings of an indignant rebuke was interrupted by Wilbur pressing his hand, or, rather, sending his hand through George's mouth. While he couldn't feel anything that remotely resembled skin or pressure, what he did feel was a coldness that seemed to transcend the very definition of cold. </p><p>"Hush! He's coming!" </p><p>The sound of metallic footfalls echoed throughout the hallway, the volume increasing as the person neared the door. Innately, George dropped the white-rimmed glasses into a drawer and hastily shut it just as his door reverberated with a firm knock. </p><p>Standing up, his hands subconsciously drifted to his shirt, vainly attempting to straighten the wrinkled mess that was his shirt, as if trying to smooth and tuck away any remnants of his dream. </p><p>Before opening the door, George took a glance back, assuring Wilbur wasn't present, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't see the faint glimmer of sly eyes from the shadows, playfully taunting him about the very secret he tried to hold impossibly close to his chest. </p><p>"Dream." He tried to sound cordial, nonchalant even, when he opened the door to the knight, who was holding a fist-sized jar of honey and some bandages. </p><p>"I suppose I should have asked if you were decent before knocking,” he chuckled through the mask.</p><p>If George wasn’t embarrassed before, he certainly was now. He anxiously tugged at his sleep shirt and covered his bandaged chest. Only offering him a noncommittal laugh that sounded more forced than anticipated, he opened the door for Dream, who seemed to hesitate for a moment before crossing over the threshold.</p><p>Taking a deep, calming breath, George quietly shut the door behind the knight and walked over to the open window, which was welcoming in a rowdy breeze that ruffled both the delicate, half candid curtains and the sheet that was unceremoniously thrown onto the ornate mirror leaning against the far wall.<br/>
Dream's eyes seemed to linger on it for a few moments before he set down his items onto the desk. The nervous knot in George's stomach that loosened a bit when the knight stepped away from the mirror only increased when he moved towards it again. </p><p>"I apologize for the disarray. I've not been sleeping well as of lately..." He trailed off as the mirror only continued to be a source of interest, as Dream stared laconically at it, his form unmoving. </p><p>"I can tell there's a lot on your mind." Finally he turned from the mirror to face George, the weight of his gaze noticeably leaden, even under the mask. Surprisingly, his voice wasn't cold or clinical like it usually was when he failed to complete his duties. Instead it was softer, worried, genuine even. </p><p>"Yes..." He wanted to sink back into the pale yellow wall, feel the washed out gold embrace him. </p><p>"What's on your mind?" </p><p>Normally, a question this simple would warrant an answer of equal simplicity, but this was not the case. George visibly hesitated as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, wincing slightly as it tugged against his wound. After a moment of contemplation, he allowed to silence to augment until the question was forgotten altogether, and that was the only answer Dream needed to respond with a small, knowing nod.</p><p>For a little while he just stood there, savoring the peaceful moments George wasn't quite sure he was qualified to enjoy yet. </p><p>"Have a seat on the bed." Dream broke the silence, voice firm enough to be a command yet soft enough to foster a small flame of compassion. It flickered steadily as George obliged, perched on the edge of his lofty bed and watching the knight diligently. </p><p>His heart quickened when Dream unexpectedly removed his armored gloves.<br/>
George pinned his eyes to the knight's back, realizing he was rolling up the sleeves of his cape to reveal his flesh. Immediately he dropped his eyes to the floor, hoping he didn’t see anything he wasn’t allowed to. The king kept his eyes on the familiar wooden flooring, feeling as though he’d breach Dream's privacy if he even caught a glimpse of his skin. The sound of the knight letting out a small cough snapped the king out of his daze, and any breath he had in his throat stalled as the knight sat next to him. </p><p>“I know the feeling,” he said, his tone holding a soft and reassuring tone George didn't think possible. “I know burns are different than scars, but I’ve gotten my fair share of scrapes. You don’t need to be embarrassed around me.”</p><p>His words were a clear invitation, showing the king that he was allowing to gaze upon his skin. In a normal situation, seeing someone in this manner for the first time wasn’t a celebrated experience, let alone a taboo one. But this was different. George had never seen this man remove a piece of armor around him, including the gloves he had just discarded. If he had hair, he kept it tied up and tucked behind his cape. Everything about this man's appearance was up to the imagination, but now he would finally get some reassurance that he was human. (As opposed to a spirit possessing knight's armor and a mask. Although that situation was highly unlikely, without seeing a human form under all of that Netherite armor, the suspicion couldn’t definitively be disproven.) </p><p>George drew a breath of air into his lungs and held it for a second, taking a bit to settle his nerves. ‘He's nothing more than a man, just like me,' he told himself, finally looking down.</p><p>Blinking a bit, George's eyes swept across the brief expanse of bronzed skin, greedily absorbing fine details, like the way four freckles near his wrist formed a straight line pointing towards the ground. Because George never saw him without armor, he had no idea how he could maintain such a breathtakingly golden shade. His muscular forearm, littered with small wounds and pearlescent scars from those that would never heal, flexed slightly as he lifted his hand, his fingers stretching towards his mask. His breath held in his chest for a moment until he realized Dream was merely adjusting it, and he silently rebuked himself, disappointed both at the knight and himself (himself, more so). </p><p>But his hands- <i>oh god</i>, his hands- George was immediately astonished by their rough and rigid beauty, any sense of shame instantly leaving his mind. They were the hands of a warrior, palms and fingertips exhibiting the delicate, deadly influence of a sword expertly wielded for countless years. </p><p>George watched his fingers hover over Dream’s callused palm before stopping.<br/>
His face flushed from embarrassment, from the rash assumption that the thin line defining their relationship was much further on, as his thoughtless action alluded. </p><p>“Can I…?” </p><p>“Of course,” Dream chuckled, the warm, fond sound simultaneously illustrating his humor behind George asking to merely touch him and sending a warm jolt down the king's stomach. </p><p>Slowly, as if easing into a scalding bath, George pressed his palm against the knight's and aligned their fingers with one another. George’s was dainty, completely opposite of the callused, masculine hand flush against his. A king’s hands should be well kept, just like the rest of him. Being royalty meant you had to keep everything about your image unimpeachably curated. George’s hand fit snugly against Dream’s, further hammering home the fact that the knight's hands were much heftier than his own. The heat that radiated from his hand raced down George's arm, shooting straight to his head with such swiftness and vigor that remaining in reality required slight effort, the vague, swirling abyss of lackadaisical daydreams dark and yearning beneath him. For a moment, the only things he was aware of were the sensation of several callouses pressed against his slender fingers and the dull weight of Dream's gaze on him, which almost induced a light blush.</p><p>With that same painstaking ease, George’s finger traced down Dream’s wrist and forearm, following a thin scar that had healed many years ago. It was faint, practically invisible to the naked eye. </p><p>“I got that one from a skirmish in my adolescence. Nick shoved me into a thorn thicket." There was some embarrassment in his voice, but it was clouded by fond childhood nostalgia. His voice was blanketed in a warm sense of comfort, akin to a wool blanket on a blustery day. George’s soft fingertips graced the top of a deep scar, one that seemed to leave a dent in the muscle. ”I got slashed by a cutlass after a thief attempted to get away with riches.” </p><p>”You seem to get into trouble a lot." Worry tugged at George's brow while his voice came out as a murmur. </p><p>”It’s a part of the job, sire.” He shrugged off his concern but, upon noticing the uneasy expression that remained on his face, he reassured him, "Besides, I'm tough. I can take it."</p><p>George let out a small sigh, reluctantly accepting the fact that danger was simply a part of being a knight. After some anxiety faded from his face, Dream ever so gently took the king's hand and turned it over. This revealed the vicious burn he possessed after foolishly grasping the scorching door handle to his burning cottage. </p><p>“Does it hurt?” He asked, cradling George’s hand in his palm with such delicacy, not too far from holding a small fledgling. </p><p>“No." George felt the weight of his disbelieving gaze on him once more, immediately cracking under the pressure. "Yes..."</p><p>“Here, I’ve brought some things that can help with that.” Dream stood and grabbed the jar of honey from the desk, along with the bandages, leaving George with a slight pang in his stomach, half from wanting to bottle the moment they just left and burn it into his memory and half from resenting this ludicrous wish. However, this fleeting desire was fulfilled when Dream held George’s hand once more, drizzling a few thin stripes of honey onto the burn. He would have winced if he wasn’t so distracted.</p><p>"Honey may seem like it belongs in the kitchen as opposed to on your wound, but it has some wonderful antibacterial proprieties." Setting the jar on the floor, he began to gently dress the burn, unknowingly creating a network of warm bursts that grinned madly against George's skin. He continued, "I've treated a plethora of wounds with this, so trust me when I say it works." </p><p>After quickly finishing the bandaging, he drew back and allowed George to examine the handiwork. The mask shifted a barely noticeable amount as the king's face glowed with delight and admiration, implying a smile on the other side.<br/>
He rotated his wrist, fixating on the neat craftsmanship, before glancing up at Dream as a slight smile curved his lips upward. He glanced back down.<br/>
“Impressive,” George mused, a thoughtful expression lifting his eyebrows a bit. After a pause, he elaborated, “You have a real talent for this. If I’m being honest, I have yet to see a task you can’t complete flawlessly.”</p><p>“I appreciate the compliment, sire. Perhaps you’d let me redress your abdomen?” He made a nod towards the reddish brown, crusted bandages around his chest. “It's important to change the bandage, I wouldn’t want to risk infection.”<br/>
George nodded, shedding the nightshirt he had been wearing for the past day and a half. He tossed it aside, pulling himself up onto his bed so he could properly lay down. Dream plucked the chair from the king's writing desk and sat down next to George.</p><p>“This is probably going to sting,” he said, removing the old bandages, “so I apologize in advance.” He chuckled a bit, looking at the now exposed wound. George immediately covered his eyes with his hands, refusing to even let the gore in his line of vision. </p><p>As soon as George heard the jar of honey open with a soft pop, panic jolted his stomach, and his breath caught. “Could you… could you count down? I know it’s an odd request, but I…” His voice trailed off with embarrassment. </p><p>“George,” Dream placed a hand on the king's forearm, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s okay, take a breath.”<br/>
Breathing nullified his anxiety to a certain extent, but the comfort he felt radiating from the knight's hand resting on his arm allowed a sense of calm wash over him. Once his erratic breaths slowed, Dream spoke again. “Ready?” </p><p>“Yes,” George gritted through his teeth. </p><p>“Five… Four… Three… Two…” </p><p>His voice was so soft and sweet that it completely removed him from the anxious situation. It wasn’t until a horrific pain suddenly stabbed him in his wound that he remembered what those sweet words were counting down to. </p><p>“FUCK-!”</p><p>“I believe it’s pronounced ‘one’” Dream joked, gently dressing the wound as quickly as he could without sacrificing the quality of his handiwork. </p><p>George chuckled lightly, but the pain just below his ribcage jabbed him so fiercely that responding with any sort of comedic remark- hell, even responding, was rendered next to impossible. </p><p>“There, done," Dream said, sounding unusually soft. His tone, gentle and kind, cemented the idea of empathy inside of the king's mind. </p><p>"Also, I've been meaning to speak to you about Thomas." A knot in George's stomach tightened. While he knew this conversation was coming, it didn't change the fact that he didn't want to have it. The notion of having someone else's life in his hands had always sickened George, and, this time, it was a child's nonetheless. </p><p>Dream paused for a moment, allowing the silence to lie, completely and utterly suspended between them, for what felt to George like an eternity, before letting out a small sigh and continuing. "Strip away your position and my words would remain true: you didn't deserve an ounce of this vile, abhorrent betrayal." The knight's voice wavered for a second, and George's stomach tightened at the possibility of it being from rage on his behalf. </p><p>Moving with painstaking leisure, Dream's touch ghosted from the bandages dressing his wound to his ribcage, which were visible due to George's decreased appetite as of late, feather light as it drifted steadily towards his head. Just as the king thought the blood rushing to his head was rather conducive to him fainting, he stopped, barely making contact with his collarbone. Then his thumb brushed against it ever so slightly, with the type of tenderness only available in the pages of a beautifully written novel. </p><p>"I've seen what power does, how it corrupts." His words were slow, enunciated with a careful deliberation that made George's head swim. Akin to countless other things that allowed insecurity to thrive in his stomach like an infectious, malevolent beast, he had never seen the ocean, choosing with quiet solemnity to read about it instead. His preference to read rather than experience led to a mind consumed by hazy, half formed images of far away lands and people and phenomena veiled with the casual glamorization only ignorant eyes can produce. </p><p>But now he knew what those elegantly verbose authors meant when they described the ocean as powerful and tempestuous, unbridled anarchy, and a force to be reckoned with. </p><p>The walls seemed to swell, undulate, shifting at the edges of his vision with such fervor that George was hesitant to look at them directly. He imagined that this, this oscillating movement that held both immense intensity and promise, was what the ocean felt like. </p><p>His gaze slid from the wall to Dream, who was still basking in the silence, completely unaware of the tumult he incited. </p><p>Somehow... his knight was both land and sea, steady and unpredictable, an anchor and a vagabond. </p><p>A paradox, if you will. </p><p>When Dream broke the silence, everything, even the air itself, seemed to still, so much so that George could sense the barest thread of... admiration, perhaps? intertwined with his words. </p><p>"And yet, somehow... you haven't exhibited any of those traits, any of the foolish errors that have been the downfall of many a kingdom." </p><p>Dropping slightly, his voice became lower, more intimate, sending a small quiver down George's spine. "Believe me when I say you're the most fit person for this position I've seen." For a moment, it was almost too much: the delicious heat emanating from Dream, the way his voice was silk, velvet, and cashmere all at once against George's ears, the sensation of his fingers, light as a feather and twice as teasing, against his collarbone. </p><p>But, suddenly, it wasn't enough. It was nowhere close to enough. The urge to grasp his hand, his arm, him threatened to overtake his subconscious. He wanted to know what it would feel like if they were flush together, how Dream's warmth would blossom against his skin. He wanted to trace the sparse freckles that decorated the knight's arms and shoulders, to find the constellations he learned about as a child. He wanted to feel every callous, every scar against his neck, close and hard and intimate enough that they would be imprinted on his skin. He wanted to look in his mirror tomorrow and be able to see encapsulated memories on his body, to be able to relive the moments through the bluish black of a bruise and the sharp sting of a cut. </p><p>"T-thank you," he managed to rasp out, desperately trying to materialize scraps of composure. </p><p>George barely processed the slight inclination of Dream's head, a silent acknowledgement to his strained gratitude, too consumed in fleeting glimpses of potential futures saturated with affinity and tender eyes and soft conversations. </p><p>Again, silence reappeared, pressing on both their throats, a phantom banished only by the most brave-footed of folk. And, fortunately, experience had weathered Dream beyond the very definition of intrepid. </p><p>Clearing his throat slightly, he looked out the window as he spoke. "If I may allow myself to be... vulnerable, so to say, for a moment, I must confess that you've come a long way from the stubborn, self-centered nobleman who knew more about... the evolution of military strategy than this nation's affairs."</p><p>The desire in his stomach was liquid courage. George let it engulf him. "How so?" He dared. </p><p>His head dipped in George's direction, the black eyes of the mask somehow possessing a gaze more piercing than that of any person he'd encountered. </p><p>"Simple. This person's growing on me."</p><p>The gilded hands of time proved gentle on even the most notorious of souls. As aureate light washed in through the curtains, Dream's armor, which bore its own copia of scratches and dents, seemed to gleam, minted by sunlit benevolence possessed only by the tenderest of mothers.</p><p>For a few moments, he looked... right. </p><p>Dream's visage, appearing so golden and benevolent and sacred, sent a shock straight into George's stomach. He wasn't used to this sensation, this vulnerability veiled in faux confidence. Whatever this was, it scared him. </p><p>In a vain attempt to reestablish a sentiment of composure, George jested, "You have empathy all of a sudden?" </p><p>Dream went silent at that, his the unknown eyes behind those two slits in his mask pricked at every inch of his skin. </p><p>George opened his mouth, a jumbled apology ready to fall out, when Dream beat him to close the silence. </p><p>"If I didn't, I wouldn't have bothered running into that fire." In a final, fleeting moment, the knight finally processed where his hand was located and immediately drew it back. It took all of George’s remaining strength not to reach for it again, his chest feeling slightly barren without his warmth. </p><p>Dream cleared his throat and finally removed himself from the wicker writing chair, making his way to his gloves. “I shouldn’t be keeping you awake for so long, I’m sure you’re tired.” George watched diligently as the hands he adored hovered over the item that kept them hidden from the world. A great silence loomed in the room before it came crumbling down to the floor as the knight spoke again. “Tomorrow there will be a trial for Thomas' innocence. I’d like you to be there...if you’re feeling well enough, that is. You should play a role in his sentencing, after everything." </p><p>“Absolutely,” George spoke, gingerly propping himself up from the silk sheets. “I have to continue my perfect streak of nobility, don’t I?”</p><p>There was a warm chuckle from behind the mask once more. “Rest well, George.”</p><p>He watched the heavy ironwood door gratefully close behind the guest, leaving George alone in his room. Normally, he’d be relieved to have some quiet, but this time his mind only led him towards devilish desires. Sleep crept in, and George gladly let his body succumb to the unconscious. </p><p>Maybe Dream was right, and George didn't possess the qualities of leaders who devastated their kingdoms, whether it was by war, disease, or famine. However, Dream never saw a nation fall due to love.<br/>
And sometimes benevolent forces can be the most destructive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Trial and Error</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George tries to ignore his thoughts while attending his first trial as King. Dream begins to realize the consequences of his actions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello again!!<br/>i hope that you all have been doing well, i wish each and every one of you nothing but the best!!</p><p>i hope that you enjoy this chapter! </p><p>(psst,, you should come visit my tumblr! i’d love to hear from you, even if it’s criticism! @space-bean-screaming! :)!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Upon waking up, George blinked at the wooded ceiling of the king’s room, slowly allowing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight streaming through the window on the far side of his chamber. He could hear the cheerful and melodic sound of a distant choir ringing through the castle. A rush of crisp air flooded his lungs as he enjoyed the sweet and sleepy atmosphere of the morning. The peace seemed greatly out of place.</p><p>This was the first morning he had spent in the castle where he wasn’t violently jerked awake. Something about it didn’t sit right in his stomach. His entire body was tense in expectation of some type of phantom pain, but it never came. His worry proved to be a worthless effort, for nothing disturbed him.</p><p>He thought about tossing his legs over the side of the bed but the sensation deep in his gut stopped him.</p><p>Was last night a dream?</p><p>It couldn’t have been. His hand slid over the new bandages wrapped around the wound, dismissing any suspicions he had. Dream was right, the honey did make him feel better.</p><p>He closed his eyes for a moment longer as the memory of the night prior possessed his hand. His fingers gently traced his collarbone while his mind imagined those familiar hands against his skin. A breath of venereal intention escaped his lips, but whatever was left of his good conscience kept his mind from wandering further.</p><p>The sounds of the choir were carried into his room on the frigid breeze from outside. He sat up, wincing slightly as the harsh winter draft nipped bitterly at his bare chest. George glanced at the large, king-sized bed, feeling a slow, intense burn wash over him that only intensified his wish to not be the only occupant.</p><p>Perhaps his energy was better spent looking into that choir. It was early, and if he was quick, he could come back before anyone noticed. After all, he wasn’t going to get much done if he spent his hour's longing for someone who wasn’t his. </p><p>Sunlight glittered through the colored mosaic of the window, sending rays of colored sparkles splashing against the smooth marble flooring. As he walked, he prayed that no one saw him meandering around the castle like a misplaced toddler looking for its mother. His mind was busy with hypotheticals and anxieties, allowing his body to stroll wherever it pleased. Following the subconscious directions deep in his brain, his feet carried him to the church. Getting closer to the door, the cheerful tune of the choir piqued his interest, arousing his inner detective. </p><p>This wasn’t exactly necessary, nor a chore he had to finish on his ever-growing list of errands that had to be completed by sunset. However, he had lost a little bit of his strength after being in bed so long, and the walk was an attempt to decompress. Along with the heavy clothing items the king had disguised himself with, the guilt he carried on his shoulders was heavier than the bulky coat he had on.</p><p>The king was brought back to his thoughts when his eyes got the chance to admire the beauty of the early morning. Finally, he was able to observe things from outside of his bedroom walls.</p><p>“You’re up early,” Nicolas chimed from behind him softly. George turned, smiling lightly at the sight of the bed-headed armorsmith. “Admiring the throne room?” He asked, chewing absentmindedly on a carrot. </p><p>“Yeah,” George said, his mind finally coming together in the organ inside of his skull, “never really get to see it in the morning. Normally I would still be unconscious at this hour.”</p><p>“Shame I didn’t catch you earlier, you could have helped me tend to the horses.”</p><p>“Is that what the carrot’s for?” He asked, chuckling softly. Nicolas shrugged, taking another bite.</p><p>“Hey- the horse didn’t want it. Might as well not let it go to waste.” He said, giving the king a playful punch in the shoulder. </p><p>George only amused Nicolas with a half-hearted chuckle, making it clear that something was on his mind. </p><p>“You look like you’re headed somewhere.”</p><p>“To be candid with you- I got up early because the sounds of the chorus from the church woke me up. I wanted to see what it was about...” There was a foreboding tone of anxiety in his voice, almost like he was asking Nick for permission. The irony in that, of course, was that he was king- looking for approval from a man covered in hay. </p><p>There was a pause that hung in the air for longer than what was comfortable. But eventually, Nick broke the tension with a smile. </p><p>“That sounds adventurous, but if I’m being completely honest- I do not believe you have the time,” he said, consuming the last of the carrot. “Go get dressed, and come down once you’re done. We can discuss the trial on the way there.”</p><p>George nodded and turned to move back upstairs, but Nick suddenly grabbed his forearm, stopping the king to a halt before he even had his foot on the first step. George turned and was immediately upset by the playfully sinister look on the armor-smiths face. </p><p>“What?” George asked, irritation wrenching his brows into a slight scowl. </p><p>“You seem rather chipper this morning!” Nick raised his eyebrows and smirked as the king's face became increasingly more red. “From my understanding, Dream left your room at a late hour yesterday, does that correlate to your mood by any chance?”</p><p>George rolled his eyes with such intensity it could be assumed that he looked into the back of his skull. </p><p>“If you don’t let me go upstairs, the next time you visit the courtroom will be because I am convicted of attempting to murder you,” George snapped, snatching his arm away from his friend's grasp. It was clear that Nick enjoyed watching George get flustered.</p><p>“Attempted murder? Can't even finish the job in your own hypothetical?” </p><p>George, now halfway up the stairs, flipped him off before scurrying back to his room. </p><p>Once he was back in his room, he opened the closet and a small breath escaped his lips. The wooden mannequin that stood in front of him was dressed in a lacy shirt with ruffles atop the chest. A deep blue cape hung from its shoulders by lavish gold chains. Black pants with exquisite heeled boots completed the outfit, but the centerpiece was the crown.</p><p>It was brilliantly crafted, adorned with deep sapphires that contrasted the warm hues of the gold. Blue velvet lined the bottom, and George ran a gentle finger against the soft surface. Drawing in a breath, he plucked it from its resting spot. </p><p>Once he was dressed, George looked in the full-length mirror at the man that stood before him, surprised at the man staring back. Fixing his posture, he took in a breath as he set the crown atop his neatly kept hair. The whole ensemble felt alien to him.</p><p>Was the cowardly farmer beneath all of this silken splendor worthy of this crown?</p><p>Perhaps his worth would be solidified today at the trial. </p><p>This thought marinated in the complexities of his mind for a moment before a familiar knock echoed from the door. Upon opening the door, George saw Nicolas standing just outside in stunning netherite armor. </p><p>“I sometimes forget you have such a talent in your craft,” George admitted, admiring the intricacies of the perfect polished breastplate. </p><p>The cool gray metal fit perfectly against his body, accentuating his broad, powerful shoulders. As he moved, each piece gleamed in the light with an iridescence characteristic of Nick’s impeccable craftsmanship. The ornate embossing on both his chest plate and helmet were free from even the slightest scratch or dent. The set was virtually flawless.</p><p>“I’m damn good at what I do,” Nick boasted proudly before nodding in the direction of the staircase. “C’mon, Dream is waiting downstairs.”</p><p>Together they made their way to the dining hall, discussing the past few days. George chuckled and rolled his eyes at the snide comments regarding him and Dream. Nicolas knew that nothing amorous had amounted to their private interaction the night before, it was just fun to get under George’s skin. </p><p>George was cut off midway through a sarcastic comment towards the armorsmith as his whole body came to an abrupt half once the dining hall tables were fully in view. Nicolas turned and similarly stalled in his place. Unlike George, he was better at hiding his astonishment. This skill wasn’t utilized, however, as both stood in the entrance of the room with their mouths agape. </p><p>Two people were chatting idly at the cloth-covered table: a jester and a man. It was the latter that caused the king and Nicolas to sputter to a stop and inconveniently place themselves in the middle of a walk-way. </p><p>A décolletage was traditionally worn by women, for the main purpose of presenting cleavage. But this shirt appeared to be specifically tailored for the man. Accompanied by a green doublet, the tunic’s neckline was not shy about demonstrating his strong pectorals. The stylish jacket was close-fitting at the waist, but loose in the arms and hips. A similar shade of green fabric was used to tie a voluminous bun of golden hair atop his head, further highlighting his well-manicured jaw dotted with stubble.</p><p>George wouldn’t have recognized the man if his face wasn’t covered by a porcelain mask fit with two dots and an arc. This was the same man who had kissed him in his dreams countless times. Of course, how could he forget those lips? </p><p>Nick thankfully gained control over his body, shaking off the paralysis to shove George silently out of the Knight’s line of sight. The king stared blankly at the wall behind Nicolas, his face not at all attempting to masquerade how flustered he was. He felt as though he were in a haze, encompassed by a warm tingly feeling spreading across his skin.</p><p>“George…?” Nick asked, waving his hand lightly in front of the king's eyes. “Holy shit,<br/>
dude. Say something.” </p><p>It took a moment until he opened his mouth letting out an effeminate sort of gleeful squeal. It wasn’t a word, but it was something. </p><p>Nicolas let out a muffled wheeze, trying his best to shroud his laughter from Dream in the other room. </p><p>“I wasn’t expecting you to react so dramatically to his formal attire.”</p><p>“Well- I wasn’t expecting for him to be so…” His voice trailed off, and he bit his tongue before he could make his affection any more clear. </p><p>Nick paused to consider how to react to him. He opened his mouth to respond with a snarky jest, but a loud and unfamiliar giggle reverberated through the halls. Nick absentmindedly shoved George to the side and sprinted down towards the breakfast table.</p><p>George tumbled to the floor after failing to catch himself on the wall. Falling twice in the span of a few hours, he realized he might be more clumsy than he believed himself to be. He begrudgingly picked himself up and watched as Nicolas proceeded to tackle the purple caped jester with uproarious laughter. It filled George’s chest with a bittersweet warmth to see that the two were close. Yes, Nick was happy, and there was no denying that fact. But the icy feeling of jealousy was blooming inside of his chest, no matter how ashamed he was to admit that to himself.</p><p>“Good morning, George.” The knight approached him, and George was possessed with the immediate feeling of blood rushing to his face. “I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you properly dressed for the position you occupy. You’d make a beautiful subject for a portrait.”</p><p>George’s brain did not attempt to weave together a sentence. </p><p>“I-I…thank you,” He managed to stammer out, realizing the knight was holding out his hand as an offer to see if he needed help standing. He took it and stood up with a shaken breath.<br/>
“You’ll have to forgive me- I am quite shocked to see that you’re revealing more of your face than normal.”</p><p>George watched the knight raise a hand to his chin, and scratch absentmindedly at the stubble while he chuckled.</p><p>His smile was so much better than he could have ever imagined. He watched as his lips took air and managed to make such a wonderful voice, it was like he could summon words as sweet as sugar without even blinking an eye. That warmth radiating from the knight was invigorating, and he didn’t realize how empty the room felt once his soft smile had died down. He was an alcoholic, thirsty for another taste of his voice- he needed this addiction fed. </p><p>“I suppose I should introduce you to Sir Jacobs. You can call him Karl.” Dream motioned towards the man Nicolas was speaking to, and George reluctantly looked away from the speaker and towards the man in question. “He’s one of Nick's close friends. Normally they’d keep the whole castle awake while singing drinking songs.”</p><p>That sour sensation of jealousy grew thick in the back of his throat. George watched as they chatted excitedly, wondering if he would ever connect to his Knight like that. </p><p>“ He’s been gone for quite a while, he says he’s been weaving some fanciful tales. He’s been gone for half a year, and it’s nice to see Nick happy again.”</p><p>“Is he an author?” George questioned, and glanced back towards the knight. He watched the man pursed his lips in thought. </p><p>“In a sense. But he refuses to elaborate.” </p><p>“Is there a reason he’s here?” He asked, the words coming out of his mouth with a colder tone than even he expected. </p><p>“This trial is essentially high-end entertainment,” He spoke very matter-of-factly. “He didn’t want to miss the event.”</p><p>The knight clapped loudly, drawing attention from the two friends as they ceased to gossip.<br/>
“We should start for the backroad. The earlier we get there the better.” </p><p>George sat with that thought for a moment before setting aside his emotional baggage and adopted a more professional state of mind. When the king thought of entertainment, the last thing to come to mind would be a courtroom setting. He’d rather spend his time at a pub of some sort. </p><p>George went pale as Dream led the group to a forested path with an entrance just behind the castle. His eyes were filled to the brim with a sort of discomforting shock, as his mind found a horrible familiarity in the place. Suddenly he was transported back to a nightmare he had quite some time ago. </p><p>His feet pounded against the moist woodland floor, leaving beyond obvious footprints in the mud as he trampled undergrowth. George could remember that feeling of his breath dragging in and out of his lungs. Eventually, his foot was grabbed by an uprooted tree, and he was sent plummeting face-first into the cold earth. Even though it was a dream- it didn’t feel like that. Especially in his subconscious. </p><p>George could remember collecting himself from the forest bed with a pained grunt, snatching a brief moment to look at his surroundings. The picture painted in his mind was alarmingly similar to the wildlife around them, only now it wasn’t so dark and wet. </p><p>“George..?” Nick asked, noticing the glazed look behind George’s eyes. It was a blustery morning, but nothing was out of place. Dream and Jacobs chatted ahead of the group, and Nick had lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “Are you alright?”</p><p>The memory of his dry throat manifested itself into reality, causing him to swallow dryly. </p><p>“I’m fine, I’ve just had… I’ve seen this place in my dreams.” His voice came out as a hoarse stammer, but he heard how pathetic he sounded and tried to walk down the trail. He let out a frantic yelp when he stepped on a twig, snapping it in half. He took a feverish step backward but miscalculated. George hit the floor with a dull thunk.  </p><p>Nick tried to cover up his laughter as he looked at the king.</p><p>“Are-“ He wheezed, doubling over for a moment. Gasping for air, he quickly strung together a sentence, “Are you okay?” before immediately crumbling into more laughter. </p><p>George wasn’t at all very amused by his physical blunder, and he brought himself to standing with a low grumble. “I’m going to beat you up.” He sulked and pressed on forward. </p><p>Nick's laughter was background noise as George squeezed himself into the conversation  Dream and Karl was having. Dream noticed George and adjusted the topic of discussion accordingly. </p><p>“This whole trial is comparable to a public stunt.” Dream explained as Nick caught up to listen as well. “The kid is guilty, he left a note at the scene framing one of the townsfolk. They have an alibi, and his penmanship is disgustingly juvenile.”</p><p>“He’s not even here and you’re already going to start speaking ill of him?” Karl asked, visibly surprised by Dreams' relentless spite towards Thomas. </p><p>“You weren’t there, the scene was horrific.” </p><p>George pressed his hand gently against the dull ache living just below his ribs, reminding himself that it was still there. He could remember what it felt like, bleeding out on his farmland. The king could spend all day recounting whatever he could recollect, but Dream’s disgusted tone held more priority than sour nostalgia. </p><p>“We attend, and let them think that their little democracy has any power over the royal rule. The president watches his second in command get tried guilty for treason, and learns a lesson.”  </p><p>The way Dream spoke commanded respect to a manipulative extent. His voice rang through George’s ears, sending vibrations throughout the marrow inside of his bones. Because of his rhythm, he had no problem visualizing this man commanding an army of armed men. To say that Dream had made his gripe clear was an understatement. His overwhelmingly resentful tone made the knight's true feelings wholly clear. It was off-putting. George disregarded the unease building in his insides. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that this barbarous way of speaking was just so jarring to him only because he hadn’t heard it in quite some time. </p><p>The group followed the dirt and gravel path through the forest while they prattled on about things George didn’t truly find interesting. Instead of participating, he continued to think over the knight's voice. When the face is masqueraded, the only real way George could confidently determine Dream’s mood was through his tone. Slowly his thoughts led him to the night prior once more, but thankfully enough they had finally arrived at the courthouse. </p><p>The royal balcony ran along three walls of the courtroom like a second-story veranda, and from it, George had the entire room in his sight. A stenographer sat to the left, under long windows that were garnished with some sort of grime. Perhaps it was simple pollution that gathered with age, but it only solidified how hurried this trial was. After all, they didn’t seemingly have time to clean this rancid building. </p><p>The court stenographer was also in George’s line of sight, but this person was not at all what he expected. In the conversation, he only gifted a passing sort of attention that happened just a few hours beforehand.  He could recall that a stenographer was a person whose occupation is to capture the live testimony in proceedings.  </p><p>The stenographer was not a man, with two types of skin split down the middle of his person. His semi-clawed hands were not slow in jotting down every small detail. The beings' red and green eyes would occasionally skim over his work and then get back to scribbling words. </p><p>George let his gaze wander the courtroom, scanning each and every individual inside of the visitor's section. Inside that vast collection of civilians, he spotted a few bizarre characters. A few notable ones included: A woman with hair made of wool and the snout of a sheep, a dutchman who appeared to have fox ears, a blonde man who wore a striped green bucket hat and was gifted with the grey wings of a bird, and the eerily familiar spirit of Wilbur Soot. </p><p>But it wasn’t the familiarity that Wilbur brought that caught him off his guard, it was a man in the very back of the courtroom. </p><p>There was a red cape slumped over a human pair of shoulders, composed of some rare fur he’d never seen before. Because of the velvet apparel that hid the man's body, he wasn’t able to tell if he’d seen him prior. But when his gaze shifted to the man’s face, he shivered. A boar skull was affixed to his head, masquerading whatever lay underneath. He wouldn’t have brought this man any mind, but something about the hollow stare from the pigs’ skull really sent a slap of fear all throughout his body. </p><p>George sunk into the uncomfortable wooden chair, which was seated directly across from the defendant. He decided to form an opinion on the boy now, in attempts to clear that frightful sensation he got from the pigman. </p><p>Thomas was a tall, lanky kid who wore messy blonde hair down. It was short and fluffy, but he was in need of a trim, simply because he kept pulling it away from his face and out of his eyes. A green bandanna was tied around his neck, but it looked to be made from a quickly torn cloth. </p><p>Tommy turned to George and immediately furrowed his brows. Crossing his arms, he leaned back into his chair and grimaced at the king. He looked torn. Not just his clothes- but as George analyzed the kids' gaze he could see something. Behind those blue eyes sat tournament, masquerading as rage. This childish courthouse rapport was quickly drawn to a halt once Dream took his seat next to George. </p><p>Dream’s hostility was utterly crushing, even if it was directed towards Tommy. </p><p>Once Tommy had turned away from the king, Dream finally spoke for the first time upon entering the courtroom.</p><p>“You look nervous.” He stated and gestured towards the king's bouncing leg. Thankfully enough, there was a tall wooden divider that separated the jury from everyone else. Only Dream could see his nervous habits. </p><p>“Is it obvious?” He asked, trying his absolute hardest to keep a stoic expression across his face. </p><p>“It’s not your face,” He whispered, making every hair on his neck stand on edge. Dream looked forward, and George’s whole body was taken with shock. Dream placed his hand on the king's knee, effectively making his leg stop bouncing. It felt like he had stalled his heartbeat too. </p><p>The president had approached the podium, the judicial bench, and cleared his throat. A collective hush fell over the room, and George took a second to look at the president. He had to have been no older than seventeen, but his gaze was much older. He had a horrid burn across the left side of his face, proving to the crowd that he had been through a lot. The scar would have all of George’s attention if it wasn’t for the budding ram horns emerging from his mop of brown hair. </p><p>Toby anxiously addressed the whole courtroom, shakily projecting how the trial was to function. Essentially, the defendant pleaded for mercy from the king in a courtroom setting. Not exactly a trial as much as it was formally begging for forgiveness. After a long and drawn out rambling about justice, the president finally turned to his vice president and addressed him cordially. “Tommy, how do you plead?”</p><p>Thomas anxiously pulled his hands across his face, visibly struggling under the intense gaze of a hundred people.<br/>
“Not guilty… by reason of insanity.”</p><p>The courthouse erupted with gasps and shouts of surprise. This was only momentary chaos, as a powerful laugh quickly asserted itself over the rest of the commotion. Everyone grew to an anxious still as they watched Dream snicker, even George was unsettled by the sinister chuckle. </p><p>“Oh, that’s rich!” He exclaimed, standing from his chair with a steady and fluid movement. “This was a pre-planned, fully prepared treason! Because of your reckless actions, the King almost lost his life! And you mean to tell me that you’re not guilty?”</p><p>George watched Thomas sink into the wooden chair with a visible frown. And, as clear as day- George saw something inside of his panicked face that struck a chord deep inside of his chest. It was familiar, and he knew that look all too well.</p><p>With a hasty thought, George took the heel of his boot, lifted his leg, and slammed his foot down against the floor with a tremendous reverberation. Even Dream had frozen, turning to look at George.</p><p>“Insanity?” George found himself asking, leaning against the divider and propping his elbows against the wood. </p><p>“There’s this girl… she comes into my nightmares, sire.” He breathed, almost so silent that George could barely hear him. “I don’t know what she looks like, but when I wake up…”</p><p>“…She’s all you can think of?” George could feel his mouth moving, and he could hear the words coming from his lips- but impulse had consumed his voice. George watched as Tommy nodded, confirming his suspicions. </p><p>Every eye in the building was watching him intently, staring the king down as he ran his thumb over his lower lip in thought. Not one person saw Dream go pale, and not a single soul could see the obvious regret that had struck his face. </p><p>He had tarnished something delicate, but he was the only person who could taste the bitter sting of remorse inside of his throat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cherry and i just wanted to sincerely thank you for reading. it means the world to us, and we honestly appreciate each and every one of you. thank you, thank you, thank you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Blade and The Blind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George reveals his sympathy for the defendant is based on experience, and he expresses this to Dream. After an unexpected visitor welcomes themselves inside of the castle walls, the two finally have some time to themselves.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just a little heads up, this chapter has some peril! be warned!</p><p>also, please don’t  share this to the cc's in any tags, donos, or other sources. thank you in advance!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quietly, George asked, "... She's all you can think of?"</p><p>Silence descended upon the courtroom as onlookers exchanged glances, subconsciously leaning forward to hear the king speak. Although the range in faces, attire, and demeanors varied drastically throughout them, curiosity remained as constant as ever. George had barely moved during the entire trial, much less spoken, and his laconicism increased the value of his few words.</p><p>However, his focus was not on the tension he had created, but on the small nod Tommy gave in reply. Had he been paying more attention to Dream, he would've noticed the almost imperceptible dip of the defendant's head, or the way he hesitated for a moment to reinstate eye contact with him. To George, this behavior - although a bit out of the ordinary - was nothing to spare a second thought towards, especially considering the more pressing issue at hand. It certainly didn't indicate the sharp pang of guilt that pierced Dream's stomach. </p><p>At Tommy's nod, George let out a small breath through his nose as he leaned back in his chair. His fingers dug into the upholstered armrests as his mind grew more and more tumultuous and threatened to envelop him. Desperately, he reached out for something, anything to delay his inevitable fall. He vaguely recalled Dream explaining, with a slight smirk carried in his voice, how the chair he was sitting in was countless decades old. </p><p>"It's a bit of a tradition, you could say." </p><p>"For me to... sit in it?" </p><p>"You sound unimpressed, Your Royal Highness." </p><p>"It's a chair, Dream." </p><p>"A very nice chair! Look at the detail on the inscriptions in the back, didn't you know they depict the First Battle, and how the cushion's upholstery has remained in excellent condition despite- uh." His faux bright tone faded for a second, only to bounce back as he pointed out another feature. "And, look, a cup holder! For your lemonade!" </p><p>"Shut up," George laughed, equal parts amused and embarrassed. </p><p>"What, the king doesn't want his loyal knight to bring him some lemonade?" </p><p>"'His loyal knight'," he scoffed in response, trying and failing to hide the pale pink that was dusted across his cheeks. </p><p>"Am I not your loyal knight?" Dream feigned injury, placing an armored hand over his heart. </p><p>"You're annoying, that's what." Although a Poindexter might have missed the dulcet affection that cushioned his words, Dream clearly didn't. </p><p>The long glance over his shoulder at George's retreating figure (Nick came to fetch him from the courtroom, panicked about being late to a military strategy meeting) said enough. </p><p>George, oblivious to the accumulating chatter, was startled out of his reminiscence by Dream clearing his throat loudly. He glanced up, dimly aware of all the conversations instantly cutting. </p><p>"Recess, five minutes!" The knight nodded brusquely at the president, who seconded his declaration with another curt nod, one that seemed greatly out of place coming from the seventeen year old. Once more, the crowd returned to swiftly exchanging thoughts, the noise rising at a rapid volume. For a moment, the combined volume of the people and his thoughts were far too much to bear, and George's head fell to his hands, where he hurriedly massaged his temples, attempting to sift through his swirling mind. </p><p>Dream tapped George's shoulder. "Let's talk outside, get out of this cesspool," he said, the light jab at the citizens not entirely hiding the concern that tinged his voice. The king didn't bother objecting, relieved at the prospect of being able to sort through his thoughts without the eyes of hundreds surrounding him. </p><p>Yet something poked at him, a curved, incessant thorn that refused to be medicated. The thought had claimed the forefront of his mind since it was brought up.</p><p>The moment before they exited the courtroom through  a grandiose marble staircase, George took a glance back at Tommy, only to find him staring right back, his gaze unsettlingly dull. </p><p>Insanity...</p><p>As Dream led the way down the marbled spiral staircase, George overheard the president's well-meaning but objectively failed attempt at corralling the voices of his country. He closed the door behind him after waving a short goodbye to Nick. He waved back, giving a reassuring nod before turning to Karl. The jester was eying someone in the crowd. </p><p>The two men stepped down the stairs with haste, and George was right on Dream’s tail. They halted, and Dream opened a very rusted door that appeared to lead outside. As the knight scanned the outer area, George fixated on the rusty hinges that bolted the door in its place. He thought it was odd that it had remained silent despite the metal bits desperately needing some oil. </p><p>Once Dream had successfully surveyed the scene and ruled out any dangers, He took a step outside and motioned George to follow behind him. Now that the king could finally breathe, it was made clear to him that there was a certain type of hostility or anxiety emulating from the knight. He didn’t know who this anger was geared towards, but it most certainly was noticeable. </p><p>George’s mind was as violent as an ocean, crashing loudly against the levee. This water contained every repressed and vivid memory of every single dream that plagued his mind. This infection based on desire and longing spread from his unconscious mind to his day-to-day life. </p><p>Every single thought inside his head contained the image of Dream. The few scraps that remained of his professionalism watched the man diligently, but even those strings broke as soon as fear twinged at his voice. </p><p>“We should take more time in deciding his sentence.” George stammered out quickly before Dream could give his opinion. “The best idea would be to give him parole while the situation is being reviewed.”</p><p>“He is not deserving of your sympathy!” Dream scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest with a low grumble. “Must I remind you of his actions that almost killed you?” He asked, his tone becoming more sympathetic as he gazed down at the king's stomach. </p><p>The king placed his hand tentatively against the wound, almost as if trying to hide it from him. </p><p>“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” The king spat back, and his vexatious inflection was enough to startle the knight. George wasn’t one to raise his voice, and his obvious irritation was cause for some amount of concern. “I just feel as though we should think about the length of his sentencing. I wouldn’t wish those nightmares upon anyone.” </p><p>In this exact moment, as the words left his mouth, George knew he had said too much. With immediate haste, he glanced down at his feet and prayed the knight wouldn’t look into that phrase. His wishes were not answered, as silence filled the room, making it clear that Dream was mulling over his words.</p><p>“George,” Dream began, his voice was no longer a sweet liqueur that he thirsted for. Instead, his words were replaced with the astringent and vinegary stench of disquietude. “I have a job that trumps all other occupations I fulfill, which is to protect you. For me to do this, I need to know what’s on your mind.”</p><p>George watched as the knight placed a hand on the king’s upper arm, rendering his whole body to become stiffer than the sturdy oak of an old tree. There was a gentle squeeze, the sensation sent emotions to drown his stomach in a warmth that could only be described as some kind of romantic affinity. </p><p>“I know it can appear like my concern is only based on my employment and royal duties, but that…” Hesitation numbed his lips for a painful trice only to be gracefully ended with a sentence George could almost not believe. “...that could not be farther from the truth.”</p><p>That bitter anxiety had finally been distilled back into splendid marionette strings of sensations, constricting around his throat. It was a familiar sensation that he compared to that horrible November night that left his body broken and burnt. As he stood among the flames of his cottage, his throat greedily tried to find air but only inhaled thick plumes of smoke. The knight's words similarly suffocated him, but this time he was not afraid of the flame. </p><p>“There’s a sort of relish that my heart fills with when I see you, and it makes my whole body mourn when you’re away.” </p><p>The flames licked at his stomach's interior lining as the man’s words twisted into twine and wrapped around his joints. The king was a puppet, tied up with strings containing the puppeteer's emotions. </p><p>There was no resistance from George, who allowed himself to succumb, wholly transforming into Dream’s marionette. </p><p>By a simple tug of a string, that dam inside his head crumpled into rubble that quickly got whisked away with the water of truth he wanted to hide for so long. Now, the waterfalls were coming out of his mouth. </p><p>“I’ve been having these vividly intense nightmares… ever since I stayed my first night in the castle.” He strained, wanting to select his words flawlessly without disclosing too much information. After all, it would be best to leave this conversation with a small bit of dignity. </p><p>He swallowed some worry down and buried it deep inside of his stomach before continuing with a similar cadence. “These nightmares, at first I felt were manageable- but it’s made its way into reality. It feels like I can’t keep the distance between fiction and nonfiction.”</p><p>George could feel Dream’s gaze against his skin, but he had no idea what kind of eyes were looking back at him. He pulled the luxurious velvet cloak around his shoulders as a sort of comfort and met the knight’s eye line. </p><p>There was no judgment, and his face wasn’t contorted into some sort of disgusting scowl that would have broken his heart. Where the man completely lacked in anger, he made up for it in concern and a pitiful breed of sympathy. It was refreshing to know that he had Dream’s whole attention, and this attention was not at all negative. Even though this was more than he could have asked for, there was a feeling of dread behind George’s heart. Dream saw him as weak, and he knew it. </p><p>After a short break in the conversation, while George retreated into his mind for a moment, trying to decode how the knight felt using the limited information he had, Dream finally broke his long streak of silence. </p><p>“These nightmares,” He began, fragility coated the words with a pitiful tone. Dream was gentle, trying to the best of his ability to tread the situation lightly for a reason George did not know. “Are they about anything… in particular?”</p><p>George pressed his lips together and nodded, tugging that soft cloak tighter against his shoulders. There was no rush to find those words, and George got the impression that Dream was willing to wait however long it took to get these words out. </p><p>And with a final whisper, he had released the secret he’d made such an attempt to hide. </p><p>“You.”</p><p>The ironwood door that was an exit just moments prior flew open with alarming haste, striking the wall of the courthouse with a metallic thunk. It was rather easy to conclude that the iron door handle was bent or warped after its collision with the cobblestone building, but it became quickly apparent that the aesthetics of the decaying building weren’t very important at this given moment. </p><p>“Dream!” Karl stood in the doorframe, looking extremely rattled and not at all remorseful for the damage to the door he had just done. His voice was hoarse with panic, and rather winded after the quick trod down the stairs. His chest heaved in and out, finally summoning enough air to speak what he needed to. </p><p>“<i>He’s</i> here!”</p><p>There was an astounding look on the knight's exposed face, his mouth was partially agape with shock. George watched as that unnerved look quickly evolved into a dispersed snarl. </p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Dream erupted, his anger in no way focused at the jester but more at the situation materializing before them. Even if his rage wasn’t directed towards Karl, the reverberations of his emotions could be felt a mile away. “He wouldn’t have the gall!”</p><p>“Come see for yourself!” He whisper-shouted and broke for a sprint up the stairs. </p><p>George didn’t expect Dream’s strong hand to wrap itself firmly around his wrist, but it did. In a matter of seconds, George was being pulled inside of the building and up the stairs by his Knight. He came to a startling halt at the top of the stairs, causing George to collide with him. Dream caught George, who was far too distracted by someone inside of the crowd to enjoy the semi-intimate moment. George stood up properly, internally thanking any higher power that had distracted Dream long enough to not fully process that small circumstance. </p><p>George wasn’t the biggest fan of this situation, mainly because the whole point of drama was pinned towards a man he didn’t even know. The feeling could be compared to being left out of some gossip while in school or being left out of the inside joke. But the more he saw his group stare off into the far wall, the more likely he was to infer that they were all looking at that skull-headed pigman. </p><p>Dream turned back around and grabbed at George’s shoulders to allow himself to be the center of attention. “I need you to stand between Nick and me, and remain as stoic as possible.” He commanded sternly, “I also need you to be silent- can you do that for me?”</p><p>George took his fingers and locked his lips with an imaginary key, tossing the item back into the stairwell behind him with a smirk. Dream responded with a warm smile, one so sweet that it made his stomach flutter even in this tense situation.</p><p>Nick was staring over the edge of the balcony and down at the grandiose courtroom exit where George could assume that the pigman was still standing. Dream did the same, and George took his spot between them. He set his eyes upon the defendant, giving the child a sympathetic gaze. </p><p>“The defendant will be on heavily-monitored parole for the next three days.” Dream declared loudly, and any noise inside of the court hall was immediately silenced, out of both respect and fear. “Each day, Thomas himself will write a heavily-detailed letter describing the things he did that day.” He then focused his words on the president, Toby. </p><p>“Expect negotiations in three days, be prepared for his sentencing.” There was a grim inflection in his voice that would have made George shudder if he didn’t know any better. </p><p>Dream turned and motioned for George to follow. He did, and the four men retreated down the back-exit of the stairs. Once outside, George was shocked to meet a few dozen armored men waiting for him. </p><p>“I want at least five men on him for the time being. If anything suspicious comes about, you are to get back to me immediately.” His knight demanded a good portion of the men. George watched with curious delight as they all bowed in unison before dispersing to do their jobs. </p><p>Another one of Dream’s men emerged from the crowd with a tremendously tall horse, and it gave Dream a pleased whinny once it saw him. George could see the stallion's ivory-white teeth bared against its lips for a moment. The coal-black animal was probably the largest steed George had ever seen, its intimidating figure only highlighted by its iron armor. </p><p>Dream got onto the steed, and George wasn’t close behind. He tentatively wrapped his arms around the Knight for balance, who in turn whipped the horses unmercifully heavy reigns. The horse broke into a methodical sprint down the cobblestone path, Nick and Karl’s horses followed closely behind with a rehearsed type of elegancy.</p><p>There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the day had been separated into two sections, a splendid morning temperature, and a grisly clouded twilight. The party of four had got into the latter, more thunderous part. Even though the castle in the distance was drawing closer with a charming acceleration, a storm was quick to chase them down. </p><p>Even though George sat comfortably in the silence, Dream was the first to break it almost two-thirds of the way back to the castle.</p><p>“You know- It’s okay to speak now,” He said, arching his back with a gentle jolt to get George’s attention. George tightened his grip around Dream and sighed. </p><p>“I know, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” He breathed and turned to him with a frown. </p><p>“The man we were worried about lives in the tundra and grows potatoes like a hermit. A hermit who likes anarchy. You don’t need to worry about him.” Nick told George with a steady tone, and Dream stiffened inside of his arms.</p><p>Karl chuckled loudly, drawing everyone’s attention while pulling a confused look on George’s face. “A cowardly farmer who lives in the middle of nowhere? Sounds like you two share a lot of similarities.”</p><p>“Actually,” George began, starting a painfully long conversation about how harvesting wheat is immensely different than collecting potatoes.</p><p>The entrance to the castle was always bathed in light when George saw it, and he was slightly put off by this new frame of reference,or lack thereof. Because the setting sun was blanketed by thick storm clouds, the high arches seemed to stretch into the sky and continue to the stars. </p><p>Once the horses were handed off to be put into their stables, Nick took off his helmet and frowned lightly at it. When George asked what was wrong with it, Nick shrugged. “It’s a little scuffed, that’s all. Must’ve bumped it while we were in that courthouse.” He sulked dramatically, before turning to George once more. “Could you run this back to the armory? Consider it payback for your lecture on wheat.”</p><p>George took the helmet with a woeful offense, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead with gusto. “Me? The king- doing strenuous labor?” He asked, his voice flourishing with a fantastically sarcastic sense of drama. “Oh, this is a journey worse than hell!” He exclaimed and followed the cobblestone pathway leading towards the courtroom.</p><p>Before he turned the corner, he gave one last look at the three of his friends. He watched for a moment as Nick and Karl seemed to have a very enthusiastic conversation about something most likely meaningless. Even though they were entertained, Dream followed them from the sidelines without adding to the discussion. </p><p>His whole demeanor had changed ever since that anarchist was mentioned, and it was not for the better. He was silent and stoic, but in a way that felt forced, almost criminal. But George wouldn’t pry, if it was something worth knowing he probably would have disclosed that intel already. And besides, he had the utmost faith in his Knight, even if he was hiding this it was probably for the better.</p><p>George had spent the majority of his time as royalty kept up in his room or with his nose deep within the pages of a book. Because of this, there was never much time to admire all the charming intricacies of the castle. Even on dreary days that seemed to be masked by weather such as today’s, the beauty of the area still managed to find a way.</p><p>Drops of rain made the cobblestone pathways slick with water, but the moss and various greenery growing upwards from the cracks flourished. George was careful not to step on any of the plants and took a moment to savor the serenity of the scene around him. The pathway leads George to the spectacular garden he had been in on his first day, and without the smoke spewing from the armory, it was rather refreshing. The smell of honeysuckle and lavender doused the evening with a sleepily refreshing smell. Various colors of flora danced in the breeze, smiling as they drank from the rain. </p><p>The armory sat just below a decorative bell tower, the white diorite buildings painted with the gray of the night. George looked at the chimney for a moment and smiled briefly as he wasn’t overwhelmed with the stench of smog. The interior of the building held just the same amount of pleasantries as the outside, perhaps even more so because it wasn’t so cold.  </p><p>A fragile strand of light came from a small candle set atop a writing table, and it flickered violently against the breeze from the open windows. This yellow glow was hesitant to show the intricacies of the room, and it became clear to George how often Nick spent his time in here. </p><p>Wooden shelves were affixed to the wall, each and every square inch of space was taken up by a trinket welded out of metal. Beech logs sat in a lazy pile next to the door, a blanket hastily tossed onto them to summon the moisture. Armor stands held up beautiful chest plates with carefully chiseled insignias. Scraps of parchment with various notes written in sloppy ink shifted quietly upon his entering. </p><p>George spent a good minute taking a light stroll around the armory, savoring this quiet moment with himself. He set the helmet on the wooden table with a satisfactory clunk and stared down at the parchment for a short while. This was until something caught the corner of his eye. </p><p>In the corner of the room stood a mannequin with a masculine physique, nearly half a foot taller than he was. A battle-torn cape was tied over a damaged chest plate, hiding gunpowder residue and deep slash marks. This trend was constant for the entire set of armor until his gaze fell upon the face. </p><p>The quiet serenity inside of him began to change into something. Something different. This pleasantly lax moment was molded into more human emotion, an untamed composition of want. George let that yearning guide his hands up the mannequin’s face, running the tips of his thumb against the edge of the mask. It stared at him blankly, smiling with an empty grin that he had started to associate with some kind of intimacy. </p><p>Silently, he gets his fingers to slide against the worn leather strap affixing the mask to its wood head. The cold air became prominent in his throat as he exhaled softly, feeling the cold sting of the metal clasp on the back of its head. </p><p>This is wrong, the voice inside of his head protested, but you want it so bad. </p><p>But that doesn’t make it right!</p><p>“I’ve never seen a pawn so infatuated with the chess player.” </p><p>He wasn’t alone.</p><p>The trembling sound of thunder erupted from the clouds, accompanied by the quick glow of lightning. And with that brief moment of light, he was blessed with enough illumination so he could see the room’s reflection against Dream’s old armor. The majority of the light was blocked with a tall silhouette, the sight of which gave the king enough adrenaline to turn around swinging. George felt his fist graze against something, but was immediately punched in the stomach with a brutal amount of force.</p><p>Words evaded him at this moment, there was absolutely nothing in his vocabulary that could even come close to describing the pain in his stomach. It came in waves, the first one-shot his vision and sent him colliding against the floor. Once he had finally blinked away tears, he could see that figure looming over his crown that sat at the thing's feet. But what George was looking at wasn’t a pair of feet- it was a pair of hooves!</p><p>George would have protested the creature picking up the crown, but a brutal stabbing ache crippled him to a ball on the floor. He couldn’t do much other than watch. </p><p>This thing was dressed in an outfit similar to his own, except every blue tone of the king's attire was a sour shade of crimson red. But the clothes are where the similarities halted because this wasn’t a man setting the crown crookedly atop his head, it was a pig. </p><p>“There we are,” A thick midwestern American accent oozed out of his mouth, as black as tar. The bottom tusks emerging from his face became ever so prominent as his lips pulled themselves into an unsettling smile. “Now you look like the pawn you are.”</p><p>George opened his mouth to protest, but could only let out rough coughs that violently shook his entire body. He was shushed with a smug smile by the anarchist, and he knelt on one knee to get a better look at the king.  A hand gripped harshly around George’s neck and foul-smelling nails dug themselves into his jawbone. George tried to look at the intruder, but the lights were so dim he could only make out an outline similar to the head of a feral hog. </p><p>“Interesting,” The deep voice bellowed as George attempted to grasp the animal's wrists. “I can see why he’s kept you around for so long, he’s always been keen on manipulating delicate disasters.”</p><p>The constant drum of rain against the cobblestone roof drowned out any sound from the outside. It also made the scene feel isolated from everyone else.</p><p>He let George go, and he hit the floor with a loud thud. All of this being tossed around wore him down, and he had to make an active effort not to crumble in on himself. It took George a few passing seconds to realize he was trembling- trembling with fear. His eyes scanned the area, looking for a means of escape when something on the counter caught his attention.</p><p>“I suppose it’d be only courteous if I told you a little about myself before I bring your life to a close,” The beast hummed with a light tune as George tried to swallow around the lump of anxiety in his throat. “I may be a murderer and an anarchist, but I’m also a fan of the theatrical.”</p><p>George rolled his eyes as he watched the pig turn his back, and pulled himself up onto his knees with a stifled grunt. He ran his fingers over the oak desk and stalled for a moment as soon as he felt something familiar. As silently as he could, he gripped the belly of the bow and pulled it towards him. Almost prophetically, an arrow constructed out of scraps and chipping metal fell onto his lap. It didn’t take a detective to deduce that this was probably a prototype Nick was working on. Perhaps this stress-test was what it needed to push his draft into the final stages of development. </p><p>“This monarchy is an only trading tyrant with the tyrant,” He began, and George fumbled with the arrow as he held his breath. “You don’t become the embodiment of the Art of War if you sit back and watch as people get drunk off of their power. I’m simply stopping the infection before it spreads.”</p><p>There was a window lacking glass above the door frame, and it framed the decorative bell atop its tower perfectly. He lined the bow up against the table, screwed his eye shut, and took aim. </p><p>The arrow struck the bell with an ear-splitting ring, it pierced through any divider and made the king's presence known. Once the loud chiming ceased, the pig looked at the king with the ugliest type of rage in his eyes. Without hesitation, the anarchist drew his blade and took charge towards the king, who was swift to block the swing with the bow. The cutlass was just inches away from his face. </p><p>With whatever remaining strength the king had left, He sent the heeled part of his boot into the shin of his enemy- sending him backward. In this spare moment, he was able to make a break into a sprint towards the open door.</p><p>George heard the animal let out a hoarse squeal of anger as he set out after him in the pouring rain. Even though George saw the downpour as something beautiful before, it rebelled against him by creating mud that sent him to the floor again. </p><p>The pig pressed the heel of his armored boot against the kings' ribcage with a grunt and aimed his blade directly between the kings' eyes. </p><p>“Any last words?” He shorted, his words barely understandable under the thick grumble of thunder. </p><p>“You know,” George began through strained breaths, “I believe it was Sun Tzu who said, ‘Who wishes to fight must first count the cost’.”</p><p>Nick arrived first, screaming as he took his shield and knocked the anarchist over. He was quick to recover, taking a hearty swing at the armor smiths defense. This would be a mistake, as Nick’s shield refused to let go of the blade now living inside of it. Even with a tug, it remained fixated inside of the wood. </p><p>George coughed painfully as he tried to pull himself up, but he was almost immediately plucked from the ground by a familiar pair of strong hands. Dream was holding him close to his chest now, his panicked breaths made clear by the rapid rising and falling of his body. His whole body ached, and the yellow glow from the lantern was the only reason he could make out his face in the twilight. </p><p>“George,” Dream breathed, barely able to make his voice audible over the heavy sound of rain. Even though his word was near-inaudible, they still took refuge inside of George’s ears. “Are you hurt?” </p><p>The king shook his head, dismissing the question and looking back towards the fight that was taking place. “Nick,” George whimpered, and Dream was quick to ease his anxieties. </p><p>“He’s fine, look,” The two of them watched as several armed men took charge towards the anarchist, unceremoniously tipping him over and wrestling him to the ground. Nick emerged from the dogpile of people, beaming pride and offering two enthusiastic thumbs up. Other than his split lip, the only thing damaged was probably the pigs' pride.</p><p>George found himself laughing quietly, but the sudden jerking of his body made him wince. This frightened Dream, who wasn’t at all hesitant in helping George walk back to the castle. Torch in one hand, the king in the other, the knight went on his way. Dream wasted no time speeding up the cobblestone stairs to the kings' room. If George wasn’t trying to tame his nerves, he would have noticed the door lock once Dream had closed it behind them.</p><p>George tossed his muddy cloak onto the floor with a small grunt, catching his breath while he tried to collect some thoughts. Dream wasn’t able to even get a word of concern out before the king went on an anxious ramble. </p><p>“I don’t understand,” he admitted, visibly defeated. “Maybe I wasn’t cut out for all of this royalty business. The whole situation seems so far out of my grasp, and that’s just from a management standpoint. That was an assassin, and if I hadn’t called upon you I would have died!” He gripped his shoulders, digging his nails into the moist fabric of his dress shirt. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he tried not so sob as he spoke. “I’m not fit to be king, I don’t deserve…”</p><p>George’s voice stalled in his throat as an item slid across the floor in front of him, collecting all of his attention. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched the porcelain mask come to a stop in the middle of the room. </p><p>All of his embarrassment flared into anxiety, and he found himself unable to open his mouth to speak. From behind, a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around his waist. George didn’t even need to look at the knight to know that his skin glittered with a matte golden hue, benevolent and sacred. It sent a shock straight into George's stomach. He wasn't used to this sensation, this vulnerability without anything to veil its appearance. Whatever this was, it excited him. </p><p>Dream gently pressed his lips to the back of George’s neck, and it sent his whole body into shivers. </p><p>George could recall every bit of romance in literature he had read, and how he used to roll his eyes at the paragraphs taking whole sentences to describe a kiss.<br/>
But now he knew what those elegantly verbose authors meant when they described lips as powerful and tempestuous, releasing some unhinged desire from deep in his body. </p><p>The walls seemed to swell, undulate, shifting at the edges of his vision with such fervor that George was hesitant to look at them directly. Of course, that wasn’t a problem, for his gaze was affixed on the mask that sat on the floor in front of him. He imagined that this, this movement of affection that held both immensely fanciful delight, to be what a kiss was. </p><p>“You deserve the world,” He whispered, his warm breath moving against the soft, fragile skin of his neck with a delicate motion. “but it comes at a cost.”</p><p>“Name your price,” George whispered. </p><p>“Don’t look.” Dream responded as George screwed his eyes shut. That familiar hand pressed a callused finger against his cheekbone, turning his head. And with that, the knight planted a kiss onto the lips of royalty. </p><p>And George had the world at his fingertips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello!! i’m so glad that you finished this chapter- it’s long, but i hope in a good way!</p><p>sincerely, thank you so much for all of the kind comments. they make us so happy, and are the main source of inspiration. we love you guys so much, words cannot describe!!</p><p>take great care of yourself, and we can’t wait to see you again soon!! ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Insincerely Yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George and Dream learn to be vulnerable with one another. Wilbur sheds some light on the situation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please don't shove this in any cc’s faces!! thank you in advance! :))</p><p>sorry this took so long, but my project coming out soon in the future should be an extra reward for the wait!! i hope you enjoy this one, i’m proud of it :)!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rain, when accompanied by the bitter frost of early December, is rather unpleasant. However, there are some circumstances when it can be enjoyed. You will often find references in literature that allude to water being this thing of healing. But outside of the castle, this thunderstorm did not attempt to be subtle while it drenched the earth below. Sharp sounds of the cold rain smacked against the glass window of the king's bedroom, but nature’s attempt to draw attention to herself was barely noticed by the two men inside. </p><p>George could feel his whole body sink into Dream’s lips; it was the kind of situation that used to only exist in the deepest, most caliginous crevices of his mind. His memories of that first kiss they shared in his dream were so different from the situation based in reality. That nightmare was grim, unnerving, and dirty. This kiss was soaked in sweet honey and as brilliant as fools gold. </p><p>When Dream pulled away, George sent a hand clinging to the knight's wrist to pull him back in. Dream chuckled warmly, in such a way that he could feel the smirk painted across his handsome jaw. There were a few seconds where they didn’t speak, they just indulged in this splendidly pleasant moment. </p><p>Dream tucked his face away from George's line of sight and placed another fond kiss in the crook of the king's neck. George drank up all of this affection like a fine wine. starting slightly when Dream spoke. </p><p>“Would it be alright if I…” His voice trailed off, almost sounding embarrassed. “If I blew out the lantern? I don’t want you to… my face,”</p><p>George nodded hastily, reaching for the lamp and blowing out the gaslight with a small plume of smoke.<br/>
“You don’t have to ask,” George responded endearingly, covering his eyes with his hands as he turned to face his knight. “I’d never violate your privacy, I know it’s something you value.”</p><p>A small laugh sprouted from Dream’s lips as the sound of his coat dropping to the floor filled the room. It was almost alarming to know that just a few minutes ago he was saving his life out in that freezing rain, but now the warm feeling in his chest eased that chilly bite.</p><p>“You make me so soft, George,” Dream hummed softly, navigating George so he could pull him close. The way he held the king was exhilarating, leaving George’s mind wonderfully hazy and full of this amorous fog. A strong and callused hand traced his jaw, his thumb gently running over his bottom lip only pulled him further into this trance. “The number of times I've wanted to be with you like this… far too many to count.”</p><p>George drummed his fingers against Dream’s muscular chest, fiddling with the semi rain-soaked undershirt as he spoke. </p><p>“Oh, don’t get me started,” George began, managing to untie the strings on the knight's garment despite the darkness. “I’ve been smitten- the sight of your jaw, your forearms… your hands…” He trailed off, realizing how desperate he was sounding. </p><p>“My hands?” Dream asked, his voice accented with a bit of mischief. George could feel his face getting hot as one of Dream’s hands traced a gentle fingertip across his jawline. “I never pegged you for a hand type of person.”</p><p>George let out a very embarrassing laugh as he swatted Dream’s hand away. “Stop being so coy and kiss me again,” </p><p>“Your wish is my command, your highness,”</p><p>George tried to make a witty reply, but Dream began to kiss gently along his neck before he could get anything out. The king's mindless, breathy stammering was an incentive for Dream, who promptly continued to pepper kisses along his collarbone. Or, he did until he realized that George’s knees buckled after being pressed up against the bed suddenly. </p><p>“Shit-“ Dream sputtered against the King's lips as they both tumbled into the bed, Dream landing on top of George with a pained squeal. Quicker than lightning, Dream got off and hovered over George, feeling an anxious aura about him. “I’m so sorry- are you alright?”</p><p>Dream’s anxiety tapered down once he realized that George wasn’t trembling with sobs, but rather laughing at how panicked he was. There was some pain on the king's face, clearly illuminated from the pale moonlight that crept into the room. But he was still in good spirits. </p><p>“I’m fine, you moron,” George could feel his teeth rotting from how sweetly affectionate that insult sounded. “I’m not going to break in half like a little twig.” He sighed as Dream pulled him upwards onto his lap, placing a quick kiss on his lips, and gently wrapping his arms around the King’s body.</p><p>George could feel the distraught hands of his nobleman lightly hover over his bandaged wound, floating above the skin with a hesitant manner. The king placed a few of his fingers onto the knight's knuckle, pressing the strong hand gently against the gore hidden under his dressings. George pressed his forehead against Dream’s and paused to drink in the patina of their affections. </p><p>“You’re so fragile, so…beautiful.” Dream spoke softly, the warm breath of his words danced across George’s lips for a fleeting second. “Someone gifted with Aphrodite’s beauty should be treated like the work of art they are.”</p><p>George was shocked. This sudden comparison to a goddess of beauty was completely out of the left-field, but the merciless attention was a kind of praise he needed. Dream drew the pad of his thumb against George’s cheekbone, drawing over the soft skin of his face with slow and loving swipes. “Your face triumphs in comparison to any landscape I’ve seen after my many days of travel. If I could call you mine, I would.” </p><p> </p><p>George smiled brightly in contrast to the dimly lit room, but the warmth from his grin was more evident than the existence of the hair on his head. </p><p>“I’m yours,” He said, feeling the knight straighten slightly at his words. “And I will be yours if you’d like.” George cooed amorously before stifling a yawn under his hand. </p><p>Dream hummed, maneuvering the king into the brilliant silken covers with a warm chuckle. He pulled him close to his bare chest as they snuggled up close, planting a kiss onto George’s forehead. “I’ll take you up on that offer…once you’ve regained some strength.”Dream said, lowering his voice once he brought his lips to the brunette's ear. “It’d be such a pleasure to drizzle you with honey…knowing that you’d be my dessert, and mine alone.” </p><p>“Shut up,” George swatted at Dream’s face playfully, who giggled at his lame attempt to silence his playful desires. “If you’re not silent, I’ll make you sleep on the floor.” George hissed with a smile before stifling another yawn, this time into the pillow next to him. </p><p>Dream kissed George’s forehead as he brought him closer, feeling the warmth radiating off each other. “Good night, your majesty.”</p><p>“Sweet dreams.”</p><p>And with that, George closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip into his unconscious. It was rather easy after all, he felt as if he was no longer a part of a whole. Now, he finally felt complete. </p><p> </p><p>Under the cowardly blanket of early morning, Dream parted from George with a kiss before collecting his belongings. Once he had affixed his mask to his face, he smiled endearingly at the king who was gripping pillows in his absence. Dream knelt down and pecked him once more, a sort of glee sprang up in his chest the way he saw George’s lashes flutter open sleepily. </p><p>“Where are you going so early?” He asked in a way that sounded more like a whine. His small hand wrapped itself around the knights wrist, and unsuccessfully made an attempt to pull him back into the sheets. </p><p>“I’ll be in my chamber, I have to attend to some things.” Dream said, the organ inside of his chest malfunctioning at the soft smile forming across George’s face. When he was tired, draped in these beautifully weaved velvet blankets and drapes, he looked like beauty in its finest form. “You can come to fetch me once you get your beauty sleep.”</p><p>George whimpered pitifully but placed a tender kiss onto the knight's knuckle before rolling over and drifting back into his unconscious with a small smile on his face. </p><p>He drew in a careful, deliberate breath, then raised the cotton. He exhaled softly. </p><p>Bruises have blossomed across his abdomen like nightshade, painted across defined muscle in hues of greyish blue and impersonal violet. The artist left patches of angry, rusted red scattered about, occasionally darkened with shades of hazel and lichen green. Marks of old scars were still there, their faint pearlescence barely visible in the dim light. He could also see where the new bruises overlapped with the old, defined by harsh lines and a concerning deepening of the colors. One, almost pure black, made a smudged, rudimentary heart right below a scar near his actual.</p><p>He glanced up and met his gaze in the mirror. He recognized the cool relief in his eyes and took another breath.</p><p>It wasn’t as bad as he thought.</p><p>Slowly, he traced his finger against them, callous against sensitive skin, shuddering slightly at how the colors weren’t coming off. He drew in another grounding breath and pressed into the bruises with his knuckle, the pain grounding him.</p><p>Dream glanced up again.</p><p>In this light, which was dappling through the open curtains, almost making a halo around his head, and combined with the faint sound of the Sunday choir floating in through the cracked window, it was near impossible not to view himself in a romanticized light.</p><p>He looked like he belongs in a gallery; like he should have the reverential gazes of enthusiasts and critics alike fall onto him day in and day out; like art, students should examine the delicate strokes used to create him, evaluate the intricate and precise color mixing that appears larger than life; like the night guard's eyes should linger on his frame longer than they do on the rest because the emotion, raw as fresh honey, is bottled in such an exquisite way that it would bring tears to even the most apathetic.</p><p>Dream looked like art.</p><p>And, son of a bitch, did he revel in it.</p><p>Light pools behind ivory curtains, half-saturated flashes glimpsing through and instantly shying away. He forces himself to draw in a breath, forces himself to hold it for a long, wavering moment, forces himself to release it, shuddering as it rushes out like a horrendous beast, the kind he recalls from old fables read to him in a quiet, patient voice. Nausea seizes him, almost makes him double over in intense, exacting pain.</p><p>He’s sick with himself. He’s sick with the way his hands are trembling (he set them on the handsome mahogany dresser in front of him a few minutes ago, but the motion did nothing for the anxiety that’s viced him). He’s sick with the way his head has been thrumming, the pain dull and manageable yet barring him from any coherent thoughts. He’s sick with the cowardice that’s plaguing him, the fear that's taken root in his stomach, preventing him from examining his injuries.</p><p>He’s sick with himself.</p><p>The memories of the fight flash before him, too vivid and colorful for his liking. It’s brutal imagery of blood and gut-wrenching screams and so, so many bodies. And yet, Dream seems to float above them, godlike in his seem like it should be played in grainy noir<br/>
he curses under his breath for no one to hear.</p><p>His reflection is barely visible in the mirror, the drawn curtains shielding the sight that’s not rendered any easier to confront by its inevitability. Shadows choose taunts over forced truths, making his injuries caliginous while allowing brave fragments of daylight to reveal nothing more than a chiseled jaw and lips pulled into the faintest grimace.</p><p>For a few more moments, he’s content to be no more than half a face, aching but half-satisfied by fantasy...</p><p>...Until the clock strikes seven, he exists as simply a proud jawline and a slight frown. </p><p>A romanticized image, he knows.</p><p>But… something about it is soothing, like a balm of honey on a wound. It’s a reminder that he's not the shaking wreck he is right now, that he exists as someone strong and powerful and resilient outside of this dark, hellish room. </p><p>If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the events of the past week simply haven’t occurred. If the pain thrumming throughout his abdomen just ceased to exist, he could feign normalcy.</p><p>He could feign a life outside of the kingdom, outside of the brutality and bloodshed his wrath had incurred. He could feign mornings perfused with balmy smiles and dulcet affection and brilliant sunrises. He could feign a life with-<br/>
A knock at the door startles him out of his stupor.</p><p>“Dream?”</p><p>His breath hitches and panic blankets him.</p><p>Not now.</p><p>Not like this!</p><p>Wildly, his eyes dart around, looking for something to cover him up, a place for him to hide. He’s not ready for this. Smiles and thinly veiled affectations are fine, but this… complete vulnerability - It’s where he must draw the line. whether it’s for his sake or George's, he doesn’t know. part of him thinks both.<br/>
George…</p><p>“Can I come in?” His voice is gentle, a soft prod.<br/>
There’s nothing in this room and he curses under his breath. He should’ve just gone to his chambers. A pained expression twisting his features, he casts his gaze towards the door, shrouded by the darkness. He feels dizzy again, and his hands drop to the dresser once more. His knuckles are ghostly pale as his grip on the dresser tightens. His eyes are squeezed shut when he calls out:</p><p>“Not- not now.”</p><p>A pause descends, pitchfork in hand and wearing a diabolical smirk. it seems to laugh at him, brandishing a weapon towards the door in cruel mockery.</p><p>Then George's voice breaks the silence, and the illusion is lifted. Dream’s heart jumps into his throat at the sound.</p><p>“I understand.” he searches counterintuitively, haphazardly for a tinge of bitterness, relieved when even his relentless critique can find none, only quiet warmth and care redolent of fresh honey. “Send for me when you’re ready.”</p><p>George flinched slightly upon hearing the door open and turned around to see Dream standing in the doorway of his chamber with a soft and apologetic smile across his face. George smiled, feeling that he was just allowed past the barrier he kept up consistently. Perhaps now, he would allow himself to become vulnerable. </p><p>“Actually,” He began, moving out of the way and opening the door for the king. “Perhaps my time would be better spent with you. Would you like to come in?”</p><p>George nodded excitedly and entered the room, not expecting the whole square footage to be decorated more like a museum than a place of personal respite. </p><p>Marble floors were blanketed with a thin layer of dust that moved in tandem with the curtains, participating in a rhythmic dance. There was a bed, and a dresser, but these things looked like they were antique artifacts with no intent on being used. The bedroom items stood off to the side, the main focus of the room being the abnormal amount of war maps, notes, and out-of-commission weapons that cluttered a bulk of the floor space. What wasn’t on the floor was most certainly on a mahogany writing desk, except for a jukebox below a mantle. The record player had only two types of vinyl to accompany it, both seemed cracked and tarnished with age. </p><p>Dream took a step in front of George and held the two disks in his hands. He raised one with green labeling. “This one’s called Cat.” His left hand raised the purple striped vinyl. “Mellohi”.</p><p>“I know they’re just metal and shellac, but Tommy has a lot of sentimental value attached to these things. Having them means you’re kind of a political powerhouse,” Dream boasted humbly.</p><p>“That’s great and all,” George interjected, gently plucking ’Mellohi’ from his knight's hand with a curious smile. “But they’re music discs- have you ever listened to them?” </p><p>Dream set the other disk aside and shook his head. “Afraid not. I don’t have a lot of free time, given the whole ‘saving your life’ business.” George rolled his eyes, knowing he was all too happy to do that job and slid the vinyl into the phonograph. </p><p>A slow, slightly melancholic waltzing tune crept out of the machine, The ¾ time signature immediately set something off inside of George, knowing wholly well what he was about to irritate his beloved knight with next. </p><p>“Would you care for a dance?” He asked, offering his hand to Dream with a royal type of poise and demanding. It wasn’t often he exercised his place of power above Dream, (if he had ever used it up to this point is debatable,) but he sure as hell was using it now. </p><p>Dream quickly adjusted his mask to fit more snug on his face, reminding himself that it was there, and cleared his throat. “I-I don’t dance,” He stammered, his visible face becoming painted with red as embarrassment made itself clear. </p><p>“It’s easy, I can show you!” George quickly stood toe-to-toe with Dream, guided one of his hands to his lower back, and held the other. George placed his right hand on Dream’s shoulder and began to step along with the beat. “One, Two, Three,” The king began, watching Dream struggle with the slow-paced footwork. After a short while, the knight had caught onto the motions and seemed to grow more and more confident with each methodical step. </p><p>Seeing as he didn’t have to make sure his toes went uncrushed under the Dream’s heavy iron boot, his eyes began to wander around the dusty room. George was awestruck once his gaze fell upon the mantle above the phonograph. </p><p>Mounted to the wall on eloquently crafted iron spokes sat a trident that could easily tower half a foot higher than Dream if set vertically. Deep and brilliant blues, white and black colors constructed the weapon, equally as brilliant as the ocean itself. An accented middle prong was composed out of a beautifully sharpened golden spike. </p><p>George was stalled completely, Dream nearly trampled over him after being caught inside of the repetitive but addicting dance. Just as his knight was about to ask what was wrong, George seemed to bubble with excitement the same way a pot of water would overflow if left unwatched. </p><p>“That’s the Suns Trident!” He whispered, eyebrows raised with pure astonishment. George squeezed the hand in his, turning to Dream. “How on earth did you get that thing?! It’s a relic- I thought it was a thing of myth!”</p><p>Dream skirted George’s question by asking another. “How do you know about that tale? I don’t remember assigning you a book to read containing that lesson material.”</p><p>“When you’re bed-bound with a crippling stomach wound,  you grow tired of sleeping and have a lot of time to waste.” George retorted, returning his gaze towards the trident. </p><p>Dream was quiet for a moment before speaking, and if George wasn’t so preoccupied with awe, he could have picked up on the latency inside of Dreams mouth. </p><p>“Perhaps you could tell me what you know?” </p><p>“I only know the broad strokes,” George responded, withdrawing himself for a moment as he retreated into the depths of his thought. </p><p>“The myth is about the Sun and the Moon, and the two of them are happily content with their rule over the startings of mankind. In the beginning, everything was balanced. They were in love, and humanity flourished and evolved. </p><p>Eventually, humans became stronger, and with that their needs also grew stronger. The moon was upset with…something, I don’t quite recall. Nonetheless, The Moon traveled to hell to collect fire for the people. When it came back successful, the humans rejoiced. But there was a price to pay for that fire, and The Moon was decaying quicker than anyone could have expected. </p><p>The Sun was at The Moon's bedside as it withered away, dying. The Moon used the last of its energy to make that trident for The Sun. With the trident, the world could continue to let day turn into night, and night turn into day. It could control the tides even if there was no Moon to draw them forward. The world could continue even after the Moon had passed. </p><p>However, The Sun was riddled with grief and tournament at their lover's demise. without The Moon, the sun was torn apart because of their emotions. The sun split itself in half, sending all of the hatred towards humans, anger, and sadness down to life with the humans. </p><p>This left the sun, half as powerful, to still control things while all of the pain it experienced plagued humanity in the form of war, death, tyranny, and all sorts of horrible evils.”</p><p>Dream was captivated with all that George knew, but he made sure to bury every emotion, other than awe thinly veiled with affection, deep within the cavity between his ribs and above his lungs. </p><p>“I’ve never been too fond of that story,” Dream spoke with a dull hush, still recovering from that rather verbose explanation. He looked at George, who was seated next to him on top of the musty bed. “it has a bad ending that never appealed to me.”</p><p>“I think it’s romantic,” George hummed, unconsciously scooting in closer towards Dream while his gaze was still set on the trident. “I like to think that the Sun still waits for the Moon. Maybe, once it returns, they’ll be together again.”</p><p>“That’s a rather optimistic way of looking at it,” Dream chuckled, giving George a soft kiss on the cheek before standing with an exasperated sigh. “I’m afraid I have to get going, I have negotiations with the president. Shall I escort you to your room?” He asked, bowing dramatically with a snicker. </p><p>George delivered a playful kick to his shin and stood up with a smile and a tsk. “I’ll miss you while you’re away,” He said as Dream closed the door behind them. </p><p>“It’s just one more day after this one.” Dream affirmed, leaning in close just in case any passing workers happened to stumble down their hallway. “But once I get back, It’ll just be me and you. Together.”</p><p>George’s face became dusted with a deep pink blush, and he scrambled to hide his face behind a grin that was plastered onto his mouth ear-to-ear. </p><p>“Quite the rewarding incentive, guess I have no choice but to wait.”</p><p>The remainder of the day carried on without much excitement. George peppered Dream with a few more kisses before he went on his way, and the remainder of the evening was spent dining with Nick and Sir Jacobs. Throughout supper George felt like a tag-along to some sort of date, leaving him full with jealousy. After that meal, he headed up the stairs to sleep off that ugly feeling. </p><p>Once in the privacy of his room, his primal instincts in the back of his brain decided that he wasn’t by his lonesome. He turned and met the cold gaze of Wilbur’s eyes with an irritated scowl. His face softened once he saw the ghost's expression, atwitter with anxious emotions. </p><p>George buttoned up his nightshirt, slowly covering up light bruises on his neck from the night before with the white fabric. After Wilbur watched him for a rather uncomfortable amount of time, he raised his eyebrows and urged him to speak. </p><p>“I…You…” A sigh. He seemed to be tripping over his own words, but this only lasted for a second. “Do you remember what I said a little while back?” He asked, and George shook his head while curiosity seemed to ease into his mind. “I saw your nightmare, the one where he stabbed you right before kissing you. There’s a reason why your nightmares are plagued with brutality- it all stems from his hand.”</p><p>Wilbur rubbed the bridge of his nose before continuing. “I can remember some things when I was alive. I can remember up to the election when my citizenship for the very country I created was torn from my hands. There’s nothing beyond that point- but I remember why I started L’manburg!”</p><p>George was growing bored rather quickly, and he crossed his arms across his chest with an uninterested sigh. “As much as I’d love to listen to this impromptu therapy session, I’ve got things to do.” George turned but halted almost immediately. </p><p>“It was Dream!” He shouted, and the name of his knight piqued the king's interest. “Dream was an oppressive ruler. I wanted to create a democracy free from his tyranny- and he did everything in his power to stop it. I’ve seen him in the wars, and my men are first-hand witnesses to his brutal slaughters. Once Eret was declared royalty, he didn’t have a whole lot of authority left. Until you.”</p><p>A cold feeling started to accumulate within his chest, frosting his heart with cruel anxiety. He opened his mouth, and his words barely sounded like his own. “What are you trying to get at?” He asked, any color on his face had fleeted at this point. </p><p>“Chaos is his lover, George, not you. You’re a pawn he’s disguised as a king, but he’s the chess player.”</p><p>George was almost as pale as the ghost before him, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. He has been quiet for a moment, but he tried his best not to break down onto the floor. Tears began to prick at his eyes, but he drew in a breath and tried to steady his nerves. </p><p>That couldn’t be true... could it? </p><p>“Could you leave me to my own devices for the remainder of the night?” George asked shakily, not wanting to give away the entirety of his emotions to the phantom. </p><p>“Sleep on it, i’ll talk to you in the morning.”</p><p>George looked up to Wilbur to give him a proper send off, but he was already gone. Once the last bit of the ghost vanished, he headed off to bed with his thoughts to accompany him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello again!! thank you for reading this, i know i sound like a broken record at this point- but your positive comments don’t get old. you guys make me so happy, and i always look to them when i’m feeling unencouraged. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you!! </p><p>take care of yourself, and i’ll see you soon &lt;3!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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